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Globe Library. 


NO. 37. 


Calamity Row: or 

The Sunken Records. 


JOHN R. MUSICK. 



Entered at Chicago Post Office as Second Class Mail Matter. 





A CREAM FOR THE TEETH 


Prominent professional end business men, artists, den- 
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been pleased with the snow-white Zonweiss, the beautiful 
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Zonweiss is made from New Materials. 


There is nothing like it in the World 


FROM SENATOR COGGESHALL :-“I cheerfully recommend Zon- 
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pure and perfect dentifrice I have ever seen.” 

THE WELCH DENTAL CO., PHILADELPHIA Dentists every- 
where praise Zonweiss." 

HARVARD COLLEGE.— “The professors and students of Harvard 
College are using Zonweiss.” Gao. F. Dinsmoke. 

Sold by all Druggists, or sent by mail on receipt of 36 cents, by 

JOHNSON & JOHNSON, 23 Cedar Street, N. Y. 



“A STRONG MIND IN A SOUND BODY." 


CROSBY’S 

VITALIZED PHOSPHITES 

Composed of the Nerve-Giving Principles of the Ox-Brain and the Embryo 

of the Wheat and Oat. % 

FOR 20 TEARS IS BEEH THE STANDARD REMEDY till# PHVSICIARS 


Who Treat Mental and Nervous Disorders. 


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For sale by Druggists, or seat by mail, $1. 5€> ■ 25th Stay N« Y „ 



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For sale by all Druggists 
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USE NO OTHER. 

Beware of Imitfttiong. 


Qhort Through 




PENETRATING CENTRES OF 
POPULATION IN 

Illinois. Iowa. Wisconsin, Michigan. 
Minnesota. Dakota. Nebraskan Wyoming 



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THE ONLY LINE TO THE 

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J. M. WHITMAN, H. C. WICKER, 

General Manager. Traffic Manager. 

E. P. WILSON, 

General Passenger Agent. 



Published monthly by the AMERICAN RAILWAY GUIDE COMPANY, 

150 MONROE STREET, CHICAGO. 

For sale by News Agents everywhere. Price, Twenty-five Cents. 





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!No Traveling Man or Tourist 





4 charming romance of love, passion and eonstaney. 


Only a Farmer’s Daughter 

-BT- 

L. EC. AlsTDBBWS. 


“A clever little novel. * * * In no instance has the author exaggerated the 
scenes he describes, and at all times he remains true to nature. * * * The 

book is a great success .”— New York Star. 


‘‘A simple tale, woven in a decidedly interesting style.”— Omaha Bee. 


“ Deals with life among the criminal classes. It contains some powerful 
passages .”— New York Sun. 


Those that like stories full of incident and dramatic 
situations, will enjoy this novel . 


Issued in the “ Globe Library; ” 206 pages. 


Send for complete list to 


HAND, McNALLY & 00,, Publishers, 


NEW YORK STORE, 

323 Broadway, 


148 to 154 Monroe St., CHICAGO. 


CALAMITY ROW; 

OR, 


THE SUNKEN RECORDS. 


BY 

/ 

JOHN R. MUSICS, 

AUTHOR OF “THE BANKER OF BEDFORD.” “ HERBERT ORTON,’ 
“BROTHER AGAINST BROTHER,” ETC., ETC. 



(MAN 4 1888 f 
yh, 3 (a 

CHICAGO: 

Rand, McNally & Company, Publishers, 

148, 150, 152 AND 154 MONROE STREET; and 
323 BROADWAY, NEW YORK. 



Copyright, 1897, by Hand, McNally* Go., 


CALAMITY ROW 


CHAPTER I. 

THE HUMAN WHIRLPOOL. 

‘‘Westward the star of empire takes its way,” is an 
expression as truthful as poetic. So far back as the mind 
of man runs, the migration has been toward the setting 
sun, until civilization has girdled the earth. Imagination, 
like a current, set in from the East, and for nearly three 
hundred years, has been flowing westward. It has struck 
the surf-beaten shore of the Pacific, and counter-currents 
have begun to roll back. We meet this reflux in the per- 
son of the restless nomad, the American, returning to 
the East. A hundred years ago Hew York sent forth 
pioneers to explore the unknown West, and now their 
descendants are returning to gaze in wonder on the 
changes which the years have wrought. From all direc- 
tions come streams of emigration, which have a point of 
meeting, and, as at all points where currents meet, there 
is a tremendous whirlpool. In Hew York, where usu- 
ally the emigrant first treads American soil, these currents 
and counter-currents seem to converge. As ocean cur- 
rents bring together and roll into one heterogeneous mass 
the driftwood swept from every clime, so, when these 
human current* mingle, we find people, not from every 


6 


CALAMITY ROW. 


nation only, but from almost every locality. The reflu- 
ent western tide seems to meet the great tide surging 
from the East, and the people mingle until specific local 
characteristics are lost in the blending of races. In no 
part of that great city is this amalgamation more prom- 
inent than in Calamity Row. 

Calamity Row is in the eastern part of the city, as near- 
ly parallel with the river as a street can be which 
crooks one way while the river crooks another. It is two 
or three streets back from it, and from the cross streets 
can be plainly seen the bright sky beyond the buildings, 
long docks, forests of masts, and white sails gliding to 
and fro. Smoke from steamers and from the noisy little 
tugs puffing about, here and there, fills the air with soft, 
dark-tinged clouds. It is a street of tenement houses, 
saloons, small stores, and shops. The buildings, tall and 
dark, and begrimed by the smoke and dust of years ; 
the dull, dingy place is what the police characterize as 
“ tough.” 

A tangled network of iron rails marks out the course 
of numerous street-railways ; and these failing to meet 
the demands of the public, an elevated railway has been 
erected, which adds to the darkness, dirtiness and din of 
Calamity Row. With horse-cars, steam-cars, rattling 
drays, wagons, and junk dealers’ carts, Calamity Row is 
in a constant uproar. The cobble-stones are dark and 
shiny, covered with black ooze and mud. Calamity Row is 
always noisy, always crowded. Millionaires and paupers 
hurry over the uneven pavements, jostling each other ; 
and the rattling and roaring of wheels over the slippery 
stones is enough to drive quiet-loving people mad. 

Dwellers on Calamity Row seem to have grown accus- 
tomed to the din ; they talk habitually in loud tones, 
but as conversation is rather difficult, under these cir- 


THE HUMAN WHIRLPOOL. 7 

cumstances, many of the inhabitants become sparing of 
their words which gives them an air of moroseness. 

On a corner of the street, in the best store-room, 
which was narrow and mean, was the shop of Mrs. Joyce, 
a dealer in ribbons, laces, and cheap fancy-goods. Mrs. 
Joyce, with one assistant, managed her small store. The 
living apartments were in the rear, and the kitchen down 
in the basement, all invisible to her customers. Next to 
her store was a small cobbler’s shop ; the small, plain 
board sign bearing the inscription u J. Ruggles, repairing 
neatly done.” The cobbler’s iron-gray head could be 
seen through the window bobbing up and down, as he peg- 
ged patiently away. Next his shop was a saloon, with the 
odor of soured beer about it, and one or two old topers al- 
ways lingering near. The remainder of the street is oc- 
cupied by small shops, stores, and saloons on the first floor 
of the buildings, and miserable tenements above, with 
here and there a shutter hanging by one hinge, or a pale, 
wearied face looking from another. 

Notwithstanding the hurry and bustle of the street, 
the cars, and carts, and crowding pedestrians, there are 
many children, infants even, playing on the dirty pave- 
ment. Their pinched features tell of hunger, filth, and 
squalid misery. The autumn brings to them no ripening 
harvest, no golden fruit ; the spring no birds, swelling 
buds, nor perfumed breezes. They know little of nature 
save in unlovely human form, or in the stunted trees 
that grow out of the solid stone pavement. These trees 
are few in number, and dwarfed and gnarled ; their bark 
blackened with smoke. Their foliage droops in the 
close and stifling atmosphere, that is charged with dis- 
agreeable odors. 

The boys of Calamity Row are busy. Mischief is their 
chief occupation. One or two sell the morning and 


8 


CALAMITY BOW. 


evening papers, and one or two others carry boot-black 
boxes over their shoulders, but the majority have no 
occupation. The largest, a lad of twelve or thirteen, 
seemed their acknowledged leader. 

One evening, Old Granny Gride sat in her stall on the 
corner, watching the boys. They were engaged in tor- 
menting an Italian rag-picker, who, with his bundle on 
his back, and hook in hand, was angrily defending him- 
self. There was a scowl on her face, that was rather 
the result of near-sightedness than real ill-humor. 
Granny’s dirty brown box was just large enough to 
cover herself and her few jars and boxes of nuts, stale 
candies, indigestible cakes, and wormy fruit. On the 
side fronting the houses was a narrow counter, on which 
her dust-covered wares were exposed for sale. 

Her yellow, wrinkled face paled, and the scowl upon it 
deepened, as she saw the boys prepare to “ fire stones, ’’ 
at the rag-picker. Granny Gride had no fear of personal 
danger, but one of those stones might play sad havoc 
among the glass wares of her little store. She scowled 
and shivered, and shook her head, until the white frill 
of her cap trembled. Her small, deep-set eyes scintil- 
lated with fury, when a stone hurled by one of the boys 
struck her dwelling. Thrusting her head out at the 
small aperture, she screamed : 

“ Jake, Jake ! ” 

Owing to her infirmity, Granny Gride could not dis- 
tinguish one ragged imp from another, but she knew 
from his past history, that “ Jake ” was their leader. 
If Jake heard her, he made no answer. The Italian 
finding that he was getting the worst of the battle, was 
beating a retreat. The line of retreat was past Granny 
Gride’s peanut stand. 

“Jake, Jake!” the old woman again shouted, with 


THE HUMAN WHIRLPOOL. 


9 


her head out of the aperture, and her yellow snags of 
teeth gnashing above the counter. “ That kid ought to 
be hung. He’s at the bottom of all the devilment that’s 
done.” 

She scowled most savagely at a boy a short distance 
away, who, though not actively engaged himself, seemed 
urging and directing the movements of the others. 

“ Pick up stuns, b’ys ! ” he shouted hoarsely. “ Hurl 
’em at ’im ! We’ll learn ’im to slap a little boy agin.” 

“We’d better git, boys,” suggested a timid urchin. 
“ A cop ’ll come ’long d’rectly, and nab us all in.” 

“NevT you mind, I’ll look out for cops,” shouted 
Jake. 

The rag-picker had taken momentary refuge behind a 
column of the elevated railway. Whizzing stones struck, 
“ cling, cling,” against the iron pillar, and cart-men and 
car-drivers swore and cracked their whips at the boys, 
who kept out of their reach, and continued hurling 
stones at the rag-picker. A train rushed overhead, for 
a moment drowning all with its tremendous roar, leaving 
billows of snowy vapor to fade away before the third- 
story windows. 

“Jake, Jake, ye good-for-nothin’ loafer, ef ye break 
any o’ my things, I’ll hev ye sent to the Tombs.” 

“I ain’t doin’ nothin’, Granny,” cried Jake, whose 
keen whistle still guided the movements of his compan- 
ions, as the bugle guides the movements of the cavalry. 

“ Yes, you are.” 

“ What’m I doin’ ? ” 

“ Firin’ stuns agin my stall.” 

“I ha’n’t fired a single stun,” Jake answered, with 
another whistle, which evidently signified to his com- 
panions that they were to drive the Italian from behind 
the jfillar of iron. Ho commander ever had more com- 


1G 


CALAMITY BOW. 


plete command over his troops, than this dirty faced 
urchin of his little band of ragamuffins. 

“ A cop is cornin’, Jake ! ” cried one. 

“ Where?” the grimy commander asked. 

“ ’Bout three blocks away.” 

“ Oh we’ll get him out o’ there afore he comes.” 

The terrified Italian turned to fly, but was surrounded 
and pelted fiercely. He had learned the folly of charg- 
ing his enemies, and, considering discretion the better 
part of valor, fled down the street, the boys in full pur- 
suit. With wild cheers they let fly a volley of stones at 
him. There was a shriek from Granny Gride. One of 
her jars was broken. 

“You’ll ay fur it, you’ll pay fur it!” the hag 
yelled. 

The boys, dismayed at the near approach of a police- 
man, began to fly. Jake, the ring-leader, had been so, 
much interested in the punishment of the Italian, that 
he forgot the policeman, but the old vender of withered 
apples, and indigestible cakes, near-sighted as she was 
saw the officer. Though too much enraged to speak 
her wild gesticulations attracted his attention, and, 
pointing in the direction of Jake’s voice, she made the 
policeman understand that he was the malefactor. 

Jake was still enjoying the discomfiture of the rag- 
picker, when he was seized by the guardian of the peace. 
He made one tremendous effort to break away, but was 
held with an iron grasp. The boy, after three or four 
ineffectual efforts to escape, resorted to the usual method 
of surprised remonstrance. 

“ What ye got me fur? ” he asked. 

“You are up to your old tricks,” said the policeman, 
shaking him savagely. 

“I ain’t done nothin’,” cried Jake, “what d’ye want 
to go an’ pull a pore kid like me fur?” 


THE HUMAN WHIRLPOOL. 


11 


“ Come along ! ” said the policeman, dragging him by 
the collar of his ragged jacket. 

Ilis companions, awed into sudden silence by the 
presence of the “ cop,” had taken refuge in corners^ 
from whence they watched the result of the capture. 
Street-cars thundered by, wagons rattled over the stony 
street, the shouts of teamsters, and shrill whistle of car- 
men, mingled with the unlucky boy’s pleading. 

The sight of a boy struggling in the grass of a 
policeman, is sure to collect an idle, eager crowd. Fine 
loafers, genteel gamblers, and low roughs, thronged the 
pavement, crowding the foot-travelers out into the 
street. Teamsters shouted, swore, and lashed, their 
horses, and the mass of people swayed hither and thither 
like a vessel on the waves of a troubled sea. 

“ Here’s the boy ! ” shouted the policeman, dragging 
Jake up to Granny Gride’s stall, “ What has he done ? ” 

For answer she pointed to the broken candy-jar, and 
scowled. 

“I didn’t! ” shouted Jake, squirming and twisting. 

“No, he didn’t,” cried one of Jake’s companions, who 
dared risk his own safety for his companion. 

“Did you see the boy who threw the stone?” the 
policeman asked. 

“ Yes, I did,” the boy answered. 

“ Who was it ? ” 

“ I don’t know him,” said the little fellow ; “ but it 
was the one that fired stuns at the rag-picker, an’ run 
away. Jake an’ me done nothin’.” 

“ He did, he did ! ” yelled Granny Gride, her chin 
quivering with rage. “ He throwed the stun ! He does 
all the mischief ! ” 

“ This boy?” asked the policeman, nodding at Jake. 

“Yes,” answered Granny Gride, scowling at the 
prisoner. 


12 


CALAMITY ROW. 


“Will you swear he threw the stone?” asked the 
policeman. 

“He was with the others ; I’d swear to that,” screamed 
the old woman. 

didn’t throw no stuns,” persisted Jake. 

“ He was makin’ the others do it,” cried Granny, glar- 
ing her hate at the boy. “ He was aggin’ ’em on.” 

“ Then you can’t swear positively that he is the boy 
who broke the jar? ” said the policeman. 

“ No, not exactly,” answered Granny, scowling at the 
officer. “ I am near-sighted, and a little distance away, 
can’t tell one kid from another. But he’s their leader, 
he’s a good-fur-nothin’ scamp, he is.” 

Several more of Jake’s companions, growing bold, now 
came forward to testify to his innocence. At this move- 
ment, a gray-haired man in shirt-sleeves, with a greasy 
leather apron tied round his waist, came elbowing his 
way through the dense crowd, and stopped in front of 
Granny Gride’s stall. It was Joe Ruggles, the cobbler. 

“ What’s broke, Granny ? ” he asked. 

“ My glass jar,” w T as the answer. 

“ Well, what’s it wo’th ? ” 

“ Twenty cents.” 

“Let Jake go,” continued Ruggles, in the loud tone of 
voice, which long residence on Calamity Row had made 
habitual, “ and I’ll pay for it.” 

This suited Granny, especially as the jar had cost only 
thirteen cents. The policeman was not certain that a 
case could be made, and released Jake. The kind-hearted 
cobbler gave the peanut vender ahandful of pennies, and 
returned to his dirty shop. The crowd dispersed, and 
Jake, without a word of thanks, shrank away to seek 
other mischief. 


A PARSONAGE VISIT . 


13 


CHAPTER II. 

A PARSONAGE VISIT. 

Quite in contrast with Calamity Row, was the quiet, 
cosey little parsonage Fullman street. It was the 
home of the Rev. William Dempster. Mr. Dempster 
was a quiet man, and not a great man. His eloquence 
never soared so high as to attract the world ; but he was 
an earnest Christian. Quiet and unassuming, he was the 
embodiment of good sense and true Christianity. His 
unswerving faith had cheered the dark days of his early 
ministry, and never since had failed him or his sweet, 
patient wife. 

“ What are you thinking of, my dear ? ” the minister 
asked, closing his book, and laying it on the table at his 
side. “ I am sure your mind was not on what I was read- 
ing. Come now, Martha, am I. not right ?” 

Turning her soft brown eyes on him, she dropped the 
needlework, on which she was engaged, in her lap, and 
said, 

“I must admit, William, that my mind was busy with 
other things.” 

“ What were they ? ” 

“ Oh, so frivolous it is not easy to confess.” 

The minister fixed his eyes upon his wife’s smiling face. 

“ I was out shopping to-day, and failing to find the 
goods I wanted where I usually trade, I went to a small 
establishment on a corner of that street called Calamity 
Row.” 

“ I hope you do not often choose it for such expe- 
ditions,” interrupted her husband. 


14 


CALAMITY ROW. 


“ No, this was my first experience,” said Mrs. Demp- 
ster. “But let me tell you what I saw ” 

“ Let me guess, — a dancing bear,” said Mr. Dempster, 
with a smile. 

“No, it was a girl,” his wife returned. 

“A girl? Is a girl, then, so very unusual a sight on 
Calamity Row ? ” 

“ This girl was different from others, William.” 

“Deformed, hideous?” 

“ On the contrary, she was perfect. She had the sweet- 
est face, the sweetest expression, and largest deep-blue 
eyes I ever saw, making me think of the angels ; I never 
saw any one so beautiful.” 

“ My dear, perhaps you allowed your admiration to si- 
lence your judgment,” said the husband. “Remember, 
a beautiful face is sometimes but a beautiful mask.” 

“ She wears no mask ; she has nothing to conceal. It 
has been said that the eye is the window of the soul. If 
we may judge from those eyes, the soul within must be 
of spotless purity.” 

“ Who is she ? ” asked the minister, becoming inter- 
ested. 

“Her name is Allie, — Allie Gray, she is Mrs. Joyce’s 
shop-girl.” 

“ And you have become infatuated with her ? ” asked 
the husband. 

“ It is not that her beauty fascinated me,” said Mrs. 
Dempster, “ though she is beautiful ; but her gentle mod. 
esty, her quiet contentment with her lot.” 

“Do you think her lot hard?” asked the pastor, his 
interest increasing. 

“ William, you must know that a shop-girl, especially 
on Calamity Row, must have a hard lot. Think of the 
many snares set for her feet, of the temptations in store 


A PARSONAGE VISIT. 


15 


for a beautiful girl ; and then take one look into that 
dingy shop, at a face almost angelic, and you can realize 
what her lot must be.” 

The minister gazed at the carpet, and admitted that 
this was a puzzling question. The door-bell rang ; Mrs. 
Dempster, rightly surmising that it was some member of 
the church, making an evening call, rose, and w'ent to 
answer it in person. 

The minister, still sitting in his easy-chair, heard a 
babble of tongues in the hall-way, and knew his wife had 
found no stranger at the door. Two voices made all that 
clatter. One was his wife ; the other, shriller, much 
louder, and with a nasal twang, did at least two-thirds of 
the talking. A moment later the door of the sitting-room 
opened, and his wife ushered in a tall woman, with a con- 
fident, self-assertive air, who held her head quite high ; 
and a stout old gentleman, with a bald head, and a weak 
smile on his face. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Sniffles,” said the minister, rising. 
“ Pray be seated. I am glad you came ; the evenings are 
growing long, and wife and I get lonesome.” 

“ We just dropped in,” said Mrs. Sniffles, in her shrill, 
nasal tones. “ We can’t stay long.” 

“No, we can’t stay long,” echoed Mr. Sniffles in a 
drawling tone. 

Mrs. Sniffles was usually first to express her mind, and 
her husband repeated her words like a parrot. Mr. 
Sniffles kept a small store up town. He was not wealthy, 
but he owned the house he lived in and one or two 
others, besides a fair business. He was a member of Mr. 
Dempster’s charge, and one of the church stewards, 
though his wife seemed to act in the official cajjacity her- 
self, instead of her husband. The chief of her desires 
was to enter the magic circle of New York society. Her 


16 


CALAMITY ROW. 


life had been spent in the struggle, and the goal was as 
far off as ever. 

Mr. and Mrs. Sniffles seated themselves, and there was 
a moment’s silence. 

“Mr. Dempster,” Mrs. Sniffles then broke out, sitting 
up very straight in her chair, “ that was an excellent ser- 
mon last Sunday.” 

“Ya-as, that was an excellent sermon,” repeated Mr. 
Sniffles. 

The minister flushed slightly, but Mrs. Sniffles went on> 
her arms folded across her breast ; “ It was very excel- 
lent. The word must be spoken from the heart, and not 
from the head, to move sinners to re£>entance.” 

“Ya-as, it must be from the heart, and not from the 
head,” echoed Mr. Sniffles. 

“We are doing the Master’s work,” said the minister, 
reverently, “ and whatever success we may attain, to Him 
belongs the praise, and not to ourselves.” 

“ That is true, and yet,” persisted Mrs. Sniffles, “ we 
cannot but admire God’s instruments. Bright and shin- 
ing lights are sure to attract weak mortals.” 

“Ya-as, bright and shining lights are sure to attract us 
weak mortals,” echoed Mr. Sniffles who sat listlessly in 
his chair, his eyes wandering about the room. 

“ And the Master himself, has said, ‘ Well done, good 
and faithful servant’ ; I call that praise,” added Mrs. 
Sniffles. 

“ Ya-as, I’d call that praise,” echoed Mr. Sniffles. 

“ I cannot think so,” returned the minister. “If the 
faithful servant has done his allotted task, to say ‘ you 
have done your duty,’ is not to praise him. If I have 
done well, I have done only what I should.” 

“ Well, you are so versed in debate,” said Mrs. Sniffles, 
with a little cackling laugh, “ I shall not attempt to 
argue with you.” 


A PARSONAGE VISIT. 


17 


“ It’s no use to argue with Mr. Dempster,” added Mr. 
Sniffles. 

“ It is I who fear discussion,” said the minister with a 
smile. “ I know Mrs. Sniffles’ reputation as a debater, 
and would not undertake the discussion of a proposition 
if she was to be opponent.” 

“ La ! Mr. Dempster,” returned Mrs. Sniffles, so pleased 
that her nose seemed inclined to lift in the air, “ I always 
tell my friends that, without intending to flatter, you are 
quick to perceive a good quality in a weak mortal, and 
sure to make it known. Mr. Dempster is always ready 
to see the good qualities in those about him, and in some 
way to bring them into notice ; but if one chances to 
allude to those he himself possesses, he shrinks. Mr. 
Dempster, you are inconsistent.” 

Mr. Sniffles repeated the assertion with a smile of ap- 
proval at the sage remark of his wife. “ However,” resumed 
Mrs. Sniffles, briskly, “ if the subject is to be changed, I 
shall claim the right of selection. I came here for a 
purpose.” 

“Ya-as, we came for a purpose,” came the echo. 

“I willingly yield you the choice,” said Mr.- Dempster 
courteously, “ for I am anxious to know your purpose.’’ 

“Yes,” said quiet Mrs. Dempster, “if we can in any 
way give you aid — ” 

“ Oh, no, it’s not I that want aid,” answered Mrs. 
Sniffles, growing almost stately in her erect position ; “ I 
came to suggest a plan.” 

Mrs* Sniffles had suggested to him a great many plans ; 
she had wearied the patience of many of Mr. Dempster’s 
predecessors with her plans. Mrs. Sniffles was one of 
those active churchwomen who have an unlimited confi- 
dence in their own ability to manage a church better 
than the pastor. They intend no wrong, but their 
2 


18 


CALAMITY ROW. 


misdirected zeal causes much trouble to the good man 
who chances to fall into their hands. 

“ This plan was suggested to my mind by a remark 
you made in your last sermon,” Mrs. Sniffles went on, 
while Mr. Dempster lamented the ill-fated remark. “ The 
thought has been intensified by reading in the papers 
this morning of the arrest of a boy on Calamity Row, for 
an assault on an apple-woman. You remember what 
you said in regard to the thousands of boys and girls 
homeless and on the road to ruin. It has lain like lead 
on my heart, and I have at last matured a plan to re- 
deem all these souls.” 

“ Ya-as, a plan to redeem every one of them,” echoed 
Mr. Sniffles, with smiling confidence in his wife. 

“ If you can suggest a plan that will save from ruin 
the homeless boys and girls of New York, you will be 
one of the greatest benefactors of the age,” said the 
minister. 

“ It can be done,” asserted Mrs. Sniffles, with an assur- 
ing nod. “It will take time and perseverance. We 
must have the co-operation of all the churches in the 
city. We must appoint committees to take the city, 
street by street, and gather up the boys and girls, and 
bring them to Sunday schools.” 

“ Our Sunday schools would not hold them, even if 
we could persuade them to come.” 

“ Then build more,” cried the sharp-voiced enthusiast. 
“ They must be saved, and it can be done.” 

“Ya-as, it can be done,” assented Mr. Sniffles. 

“You have given me only the bare outlines of your 
plan, but to me it seems to lack practicability.” 

“How so?” asked Mrs. Sniffles, surprise checking her 
enthusiasm. “ Committees are appointed to do chari- 
table work, and certainly the reclaiming of these children 
will be charitable,” 


A PARSONAGE VISIT. 


19 


“ It would be charitable,” assented the minister ; “ but 
if sin is to be overcome in New York, it cannot be taken 
by storm. \ ou could hardly get all the churches united, 
and not one-tenth of those children could be induced to 
enter a Sunday-school in their rags and dirt. Before 
the soul is reclaimed, the body must be provided for. I 
have learned the impossibility of influencing the mind 
of a man who has an empty stomach. When I have 
brought a street arab to my house, clothed and fed him, 
and kneel down to pray, he can think of God, and not 
the needs of a cold, starving body.” 

Mrs. Sniffles’ enthusiasm was visibly diminished. She 
was willing to head a committee for the saving of souls, 
but the care of bodies was another matter. She was 
willing to devote her time to the duties of a chairwoman 
of a committee on ways and means to redeem the young ; 
she would deliver long addresses, and might have been 
induced to offer advice and remonstrance to the waifs 
brought from the street, but when an expenditure of 
money was necessary, she drew back. 

“ Why, Mr. Dempster ! ” she broke out, leaning back 
in her chair. “ You do not pretend to say that good seed 
sown will not take root ! ” 

“That depends on the kind of ground on which the 
seed falls. If the soil is good, it will grow, but to sow 
seed on cobble-stones, is to waste one’s energies. The 
husbandman prepares the soil for the seed before sowing. 
These children, to be prepared for the seed, must have food 
and clothes, and comfortable places of abode ; when that 
is done, it will be time for your committees to attend to 
the wants of their souls.” 

Met with an argument she could not withstand, Mrs. 
Sniffles had no reply. She had hoped to become presi- 
dent of a society for saving the friendless children of the 


20 . 


CALAMITY BOW. 


metropolis, and, as chief of a wealthy and benevolent 
institution, to attain prominence in society. But all her 
fine theories were torn to shreds by this practical minis- 
ter. Her husband was too completely overcome to echo 
his wife. 

“We really must go, Isaias,” she said, rising. “We 
have overstayed our time. We only just dropped in a 
moment.” 

“Mrs. Sniffles’ plan melted like snow in April, at the 
idea of giving food and clothes to the poor children,” re- 
marked the minister, resuming his seat, after their de- 
parture. “ I fear such an organization under her leader- 
ship will not prosper.” 

“ I discovered while father was her pastor that her 
charity never assumed the substantial form of dollars and 
cents,” said his wife. 

“ How is that ? ” 

“ It is sixteen years or more since then. A baby was 
left at the Orphan’s Home. Mrs. Sniffles was one of the 
managers at the time, and as it was full, she took the 
child, but she kept it for two or three months only, and 
then finding that it added to her trouble and expense, 
sent it back to the asylum ; so I never knew what became 
of the poor little thing.” 


CHAPTER III. 

MRS. BILLINGTON’s BOARDING-HOUSE. 

On one of the most quiet of the streets in the not 
clearly defined region between “ up ” and “ down town,” 
stood Mrs. Billington’s boarding-house. Mrs. Billington 
was a sprightly widow of uncertain age, a thorough 


Mrs. billington’ s boarding-house. 21 

woman of business, who looked sharply after her pay, 
and the comfort of her boarders. Her house was not 
one of the most fashionable of New York boarding houses, 
yet one could board there, and be fashionable ; in fact, 
Mr. Van Orden, one of her boarders, had the entree , as 
he said, to the best society. But he came of old Knick- 
erbocker stock, and claimed admission to that so-called 
magic circle. Mr. Van Orden parted his hair in the mid- 
dle, and wore an eyeglass. In “ either ” and “ neither,” 
he sounded the i long, and in speech and in dress was 
particular to fastidiousness, though he occupied a single 
room, the smallest in the house. Whether he was en- 
gaged in any business or not, few knew. 

The next most important boarder was Mr. Humphrey 
Harrison, a cockney, who was an exceedingly fastidious 
person, and liked to be thought a gentleman of leisure. 
It was rumored that Mr. Harrison was connected with 
the nobility of England, and on the death of an uncle, 
now old and feeble, would inherit an earldom. In addi- 
tion to these, Mrs. Billington had a very chatty lady 
boarder, a surly-looking policeman, and a lady and gen- 
tleman temporarily in the city. 

Her boarding-house being near the medical colleges, 
Mrs. Billington hoped to fill it with students, when the 
term opened, and was not disappointed. O11 the first 
day, two young gentlemen applied for board and lodg- 
ing. 

Fred Saunders, one of these new boarders, had never 
been in New York, but had read much about the wicked 
city. He had come to it, fully prepared for the worst. 
Our western young man was certain that no woman in 
the metropolis could be as good and pure as those in his 
far-away home. In fact he was skeptical as to there 
being any righteous thing in the great city. Fred was 


22 


CALAMITY ROW. 


the only son of well-to-do parents. Young, with robust 
health, and a strong, clear intellect, there seemed no prize 
in life that he might not hope to grasp. 

On his way to New York, he had fallen in with his 
present companion, a young man about his own age, 
named Horace Waters. Although strangers, both being 
bound for the same city, on the same business, they 
became acquainted, and soon fast friends. Horace, like 
Fred, was entering on his first course, and shared many 
of Fred’s ideas. Both thought New York people all 
sharpers and rascals to be dreaded as much as the treach- 
erous savage. 

They found their way by some chance to Mrs. Billing- 
ton’s boarding-house, and were domiciled there a day or 
two before the opening of the term. On the morning of 
the second day after their arrival at Mrs. Billington’s 
they started out for a stroll. 

“ Good mornin’, fellers,” said a cheerful voice, as they 
opened the hall door. 

Coming up the steps was a singular looking individual. 
He seemed a Westerner and Southerner in one. He 
wore a broad-brimmed black felt hat, slouched a little on 
one side, and from beneath it shone a pair of bright, dark 
eyes. His sallow face was full and round, and a jet 
black mustache was on his upper lip. Apparently he was 
about thirty ; he wore a short coat, a pair of checked 
pants, and heavy boots, and in his right hand carried an 
old, faded, and well-worn carpet-bag, which, like himself, 
was covered with dust. There was about him the air of 
ease and freedom common to men of his peculiar tem- 
perament. 

“ Good morning, sir,” said Fred. 

The stranger extended his hand after tne cordial South- 
ern manner, and shook the hands of both the young men 


MRS. B ILL IN G TON’ S BOARDING-HOUSE. 23 

as heartily as though they were old friends, and then 
inquired : 

“ Is this Miss Billington’s boardinghouse ? ” 

“Yes,” Fred answered. 

“ D’you fellers stop here? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“I’ve jest got in town, and been lookin’ round fur a 
a boardin’-house. Went over t’ the college, and they 
sent me here.” 

“Are you going to attend college ? ” Fred asked, with 
some surprise. 

“Yes, — that’s what I come fur.” 

“ What college will you attend.” 

“ Bellevue Medical.” 

“ That is where we are going,” said Horace. 

“Is that so? Well, I’m glad o’that. We’ll git ac- 
quainted. Where ar’ you fellers from ? ” 

“ Indiana and Ohio,” they answered. 

“Any kin?” 

“Ho, never saw each other until we met on the train a 
week ago. Where are you from?” Fred ventured. 

“ I’m from Tennessee, ’mong the Cumberland Moun- 
tains. I graduated at Nashville ten years ago, and been 
practicin’ but thought I’d come out here and rub up.” 

Fred thought he had come to a very good place to 
“rub up.” The stranger deposited his carpet-bag on one 
side of the door, and drawing a red bandanna handker- 
chief from his coat, proceeded to wipe the perspiration 
from his face. 

Rude as he was in manner and speech, there was some- 
thing attractive about this young doctor from the wilds 
of the Cumberland Mountains. Be his medical knowl- 
edge ever so good, it was evident that his grammar had 
been neglected. He asked the names of our friends and 
gave his own : — David Crocket Stonebeater. 


24 


CALAMITY ROW. 


Mrs. Billington appeared, profuse with smiles and pleas- 
sant words, on ascertaining that another boarder had 
come. Fred and Horace promised the doctor to improve 
the acquaintance, and went out for their intended stroll. 

“ A singular character,” said Horace Waters. 

“ Decidedly,” Fred answered. “ He has the air of a 
Western man, with the warm, genial nature of a Souther- 
ner. Unless I read him wrongly, he is bold as a lion, 
with a heart tender as a woman.” 

“ I think you are right, Fred,” said Horace. 

“ It is strange, a practicing doctor should be so illiter- 
ate and uncouth.” 

“ I suppose his associations have been only among the 
illiterate.” 

After a pleasant walk, passing through Gramercy 
Park, down Broadway to Union Square, they returned 
just in time for lunch. Although their room fronted the 
street on the north, it was very pleasant. Sitting at the 
window, they could hear the roar on those more crowded 
thoroughfares, not more than two or three blocks away. 
On the opposite side of the street, a rag-and-bottle man, 
with an empty bag thrown over his shoulder, was crying : 
“ Old rags — bottles, rags — bottles,” with a resonant and 
not unmelodious rising inflection on the last syllable. 
A broom-peddler, with a bundle on his shoulder was, a 
little farther down the street, singing his monotonous 
song : “ Buy a broom — new broom — sweep clean — new 
broom ! ” A discordant organ, was groaning and wheez. 
ing on a corner of the street, the dark skinned Italian 
watching the windows above, hoping to get a few pen- 
nies. A rag-picker, looking as if he had sprung from a 
dirt-heap, with a pack on his back, a basket on one arm, 
and his little iron hook in his hand, was darting about 
the street, digging now in a barrel of ashes, then in an 


MBS. B 1LLIN G T02P S B 0ABB1NG-II0 IT SB. 25 

old box or barrel of garbage, hooking out a bone or a 
rag here, a small piece of pewter or a withered turnip 
there. 

While our Western friends were gazing on these 
scenes, lunch-bell rang, and there was a rush of feet down 
the stairway above and below, as the boarders hastened 
to the lunch-table, with sucli zest as only hungry boarders 
know. When our friends entered the dining-room, 
they found two tables well filled. Mrs. Billington was 
present, smiling serenely, and chatting pleasantly, like a 
hostess entertaining guests. Through the window came 
the faint and far-off cry of the broom-vender and of the 
rag-and-bottle man, and the wheezy notes of the organ. 

“ Them fellers ain’t very good at singin’,” said a voice 
at Fred’s elbow, and looking around he discovered that 
his neighbor wa§. the Tennesseean. 

“ Their articulation is not faultless,” Fred answered. 

“That’s the sorriest kind o’ singin’. Half a dozen 
Tennessee niggers at a corn-shuckin’ kin make more 
ginuine music than a raft-load o’ them fellers.” 

Mr. Harry Van Orden, who sat opposite the South- 
erner, placed his eyeglass to his eye, and fixed upon the 
Tennesseean a glassy stare. Then, turning to his com- 
panion, Mr. Humphrey Harrison, he said : 

“ All ! Mr. Harrison, do you know that fello’ ? ” 

“ Ho, Hi never saw ’im before,” the Englishman 
responded, with a sneer of contempt for all Americans. 

“Nyther did I. Ah ! he is very rude,” said Mr. Van 
Orden. 

The Tennesseean chanced to look across the table, 
and caught sight of Mr. Van Orden. The white shirt- 
front, diamond pin, gold studs, and sleeve-buttons, all 
bore evidence that Mr. Van Orden was capable of dress- 
ing in the most approved style, whatever his failings 


26 


CALAMITY £OlF. 


might be. The Tennessean paused, his knife half raised 
to his lips, looking at Van Orden with the calm curiosity 
he would have bestowed upon some unknown animal, at 
a menagerie. From the American dandy his eyes 
wandered to the cockney. Mr. Harrison was attired 
very much after the style of Van Orden, and even more 
pronounced, more English in manner. The curiosity of 
the rustic physician from the Cumberland hills was 
aroused. He watched Mr. Van Orden’s hair with a 
frank curiosity. His healthy mind was making gigantic 
efforts to read the men before him. The gentle nerves 
of the swells were unstrung by the stranger’s influence, 
and the Englishman, turning to his American cousin, 
said : 

“ That fellow is ’orrible. See ’ow himpudent he stares 
at us. He is a stupid howl.” 

“ Ah ! don’t mind him, my lord. He is a rude boor 
from the west,” said Mr. Van Orden, drawing his napkin 
across his mouth. Since Mr. Harrison was so nearly re- 
lated to the nobility, Mr. Van Orden frequently addressed 
him as “my lord,” or “Sir Humphrey.” “He has no 
sense of propriety or knowledge of etiquette. I shall 
inform Mrs. Billington I cannot be bored by such a 
horrid creature.” 

“ So shall Hi. I’ll change my boarding-’ouse,” an- 
swered the disgusted Englishman. 

With this dire resolve, Van Orden and the English- 
man rose, and left the dining-room. 

“ I say,” demanded the Tennesseean, as the door 
closed after them, “ ain’t them two fellers what you folks 
here calldewds? ” 

The question was put in a voice loud enough to be 
heard by all, and in such earnestness as to provoke gen- 
eral laughter. The Tennesseean was nicknamed “ Ten- 


THE VANDERBITRGS. 


27 


nessee,” a sobriquet which clung to him ever after- 
ward. 

The typical Westerner and Southerner among Mrs. 
JBillington’s boarders, was in strong contrast with the 
other type, the strange product of the refinement of the 
East. The tide which had swept westward was flowing 
back bearing new and fresh elements to mingle with the 
life of the East, in the whirlpool of the great metro- 
polis. 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE VANDERBURGS. 

It was a gloomy day. Fog from the Atlantic pushed 
its way up the two rivers, and spread all over the me- 
tropolis. All day long, since early dawn, the fog had 
spread over the city, and all day long the constant 
whistle of steamers on both rivers had been heard. 
Late in the afternoon the fog lifted, and coming in con- 
tact with cold air, condensed, and fell in a fine mist- 
v like rain. 

The streets were sloppy, and as evening drew on, the 
rain fell faster, soaking every unprotected pedestrian to 
the skin. Nowhere else is a rainy day so gloomy, so 
dispiriting, as in New York. Business was not pros- 
trated, it never is in that great city, but it was impeded. 
Gazing down Broadway on a rainy day, the thousands 
of dripping umbrellas look not a little like a moving 
forest of giant black toadstools. 

Mrs. Robert Vanderburg in her elegant Fifth Avenue 
mansion was sitting near the large bay window. Ordi- 
narily it would admit a flood of light ; but on this gloomy 


28 


CALAMITY LOW. 


day, the light hardly reached beyond the recess, and 
somber shadows stood out in the rear. Mrs. Vanderburg 
threw aside the novel she had been reading, and looked 
listlessly out through the dripping casement to the 
gloomy street without, almost unconsciously feeling the 
pleasurable contrast of the warmth and luxury within, 
as she noted the drenched garments and shivering forms 
of the passers-by. She wore a rich evening dress, which 
fell in vague lustrous folds about her figure. Her hair 
was crimped and her bangs were protected by the thin- 
nest bits of lace, for she intended to go to the opera. 
She thought the book stupid, the weather stupid, and, 
in fact, all about her was stupid. The diamonds in her 
ear-rings flashed in the gloom. The jewels on the hands 
sparkled and scintillated, filling the apartment with 
flashing rays. 

This lady was a member of the “first-class New York 
society.” Her position in the past had been doubtful, 
but she seemed firmly established now. She was the 
wife of a millionaire. She lived in New York, which 
she pretended to detest, because New York was, after 
all, the only American city where one could get anything 
one wanted. On the whole, with her poetic furbelows, 
and well shaped, intelligent little face, she was a decid- 
edly interesting woman. She was even more — she was 
pretty. Naturally she was shy, and had she not pos- 
sessed a certain amount of vanity, she might have re- 
mained shy. Now, she was both diffident and impor- 
tunate ; extremely reserved at times with some of her 
friends, and strongly expansive with others. It was 
hinted that she despised her husband. She was his second 
wife, and much younger than he. He was an invalid, 
an ex-speculator, whom people called a cross old bear 
He was a member of the exchange, but seldom there of 


THE VANDERBUJRGS. 


29 


late. Having made millions he had in a measure retired. 
He never went with Mrs. Vanderburg ; and she, young, 
attractive and pretty, could not forego all pleasure, so 
went out alone, or with some friend. Mrs. Vanderburg 
could not have been over thirty, and her dark-brown 
eyes, auburn hair, and handsome face, made her look 
much younger. 

It was hinted that she had not made her husband’s 
life as happy as did his former wife, who was a bright 
genial flower, plucked from the Sunny South. Col. Robert 
Vanderburg’s first wife and their only child had been 
lost on a steamer, which sunk just as it was entering 
Hew York harbor. The husband, who was in the city 
expecting them, was so shocked at their awful death, 
that for weeks his life was despaired of ; but time, the 
great healer, brought him to apparent health ; though he 
was ever after a sad man. The bodies of his wife and child 
had never been recovered, though he had made every 
effort to get them. He had served as colonel of a Hew 
York regiment in the war of the Rebellion, and it was 
during that time he wooed and won his first wife. Spec- 
ulating in Wall Street tended to take his mind from the 
gloomy past, and financial ruin to him would have been 
a blessing. But fortune is deceitful, and often when we 
seek her not, she thrusts herself on us. Col. Vanderburg 
■was already wealthy, and everything he touched seemed 
to turn to gold. 

In the course of time the colonel married the second 
Mrs, Vanderburg. She was a belle, but her position in 
society was jeoparded by the failing fortunes of her father. 
He could not give this second wife the love he had be- 
stowed on the first. His second marriage, indeed, was 
more of a business transaction than a love affair. But 
Col. Vanderburg was very much devoted to his young 
wife, though not frequently seen with her. 


30 


CALAMITY ROW. 


Having no children of their own they adopted the 
orphan daughter of Col. Vanderburg’s brother. Miss 
Adelaide Vanderburg had been in the family of her un- 
cle since her parents’ death, which occurred when she 
was a child. She was now past eighteen, and had just 
made her debut in society. 

Adelaide was more like her aunt than her uncle. She 
was piquant, vivacious, and sparkling as the diamonds 
which graced her fair throat, arms and forehead. She 
was ambitious, and in early girlhood had vowed she would 
marry no one but a lord. Her uncle’s wealth, which she 
would inherit, would certainly entitle her to nobility. 

But she found lords difficult to obtain, and was be- 
trothed to a wealthy young Wall Street speculator named 
Darlington. There was so wonderful a similarity between 
the tastes and desires of Adelaide and Mrs. Vanderburg, 
that they became fast friends and allies on all questions 
of mutual benefit. 

Col. Vanderburg lived a morose and melancholy life in 
his study, to which few were admitted. His agents came 
to him and transacted such business as was necessary. 
He had great confidence in Edward Darlington, who had 
exhibited ability to take care of himself on Wall Street. 
He had a seat in the Exchange and was the confidential 
friend and adviser of the Colonel. He combined the ele- 
ments of a thorough business man and society gentleman. 

Mrs. Vanderburg rose from the sofa and, going to the 
window, drew the curtain aside, to gaze on the wet, 
gloomy street. The door opened, and Miss Adelaide en- 
tered. Miss Adelaide was tall, rather slender, and yet 
with just the least tendency to plumpness. 

“ Oh, aunt 1 is not this too bad ? ” she cried. 

“ The weather, you mean, Adelaide?” 

“ Yes, of course ; what else could I mean ?” 


THE VANEERBUBGS. 


31 


“It is a bore,” said Mrs. Yanderburg, turning away as 
if tired of existence. 

“ It is so disagreeable, but we are going to the opera to- 
night, of course,” continued Miss Adelaide, seating herself 
and tapping her little slippered foot upon the rug. 

“ Of course, my dear. I think Mr. Darlington is to 
come for us to-night.” 

“ Yes, aunt, I had almost forgotten to tell you.” 

“Indeed, you must have your future husband very 
little in mind,” said Mrs. Yanderburg. 

“ I think of him about as much as he does of me,” she 
returned. 

“What do you mean, Adelaide? Don’t you love 
Edward ?” 

“ Oh ! I suppose so, — after my fashion. He is the 
nicest and richest young man of my acquaintance, but I 
was to have married a nobleman, you know, and then I 
could have gone to England, arid been a great lady. But 
since I have been in the market no nobleman came round 
save a few old fellows, too horrible to look at. I guess 
Ed is the best I can do, and I like him real well ; but 
then he is so devoted to stocks and dividends, and has 
little time to think of me.” 

“And how about yourself? ” asked her aunt coolly. 

“ Ah, I have no objection to his spending all the time 
he desires on Wall Street. Society suits me, so I think 
we will get along very well.” 

Mrs. Yanderburg was cold, almost heartless, herself, 
and expressed no surprise at like qualities in others. The 
ladies were both seated near the broad and deep bay 
window, and gazed out on the crowded pavement. Many 
seemed suffering with the dampness and chill. One old 
beggar woman, with clenched hands, tottered along, her 
head bared to the rain, Next came a young girl, neatly 


CALAMITY HOW. 


£2 

but not expensively dressed, wearing a waterproof, with 
cape made into a cap, and drawn over her head. She 
had a small bundle under one arm, and carried an um- 
brella. There was something indefinably sad about her. 
The dainty little feet tripped wearily over the slippery 
side-walk. 

The ladies in their cosey parlor had no sympathy for 
the people who struggled along through cold and rain. 
Their misery served as a background to the picture in 
which their own good fortune stood out in bright relief. 

. “ There is Edward’s ' carriage,” said Adelaide. The 
carriage drew up at the curbstone in front of the house, 
and a footman in livery opened the door. A handsome 
young man sprang out, and hurrying across the broad 
pavement passed up between the crouching lions on either 
side of the steps, and rang the bell. He had dark- 
gray eyes, brown curly hair and a superb mustache. 
A servant came and opened the door, and he was 
conducted to Mrs. Vanderburg’s parlor. Both ladies 
greeted him, and he seemed about as welcome to one as 
to the other. 

“ It’s a gloomy day, ladies,” said Mr. Darlington, in 
his sparkling manner, seating himself on the sofa by 
Adelaide. 

“ It is unreasonable weather,” returned Mrs. Vander- 
burg. “ Everybody feels the effects of it.” 

“ Perhaps that accounts for my cool reception,” said 
Mr. Darlington, with a sly glance at Adelaide. 

“ Do you think I am cool ? ” she asked. 

“ Yes.” 

“ It is just punishment to you for venturing out on 
such a day, and endangering your health,” responded 
Miss Adelaide. 

“ Are you so careful of my health?” Mr. Darlington 
asked, fixing his eyes upon her. 


THE YANDRRBURGS. 


33 


“ Of course I am. Should I not be?” 

“ Don’t suffer any uneasiness on my account, and be 
ready for the opera this evening, without regard to the 
weather.” 

4 ' Oh, we shall be ready,” quickly answered Mrs. Van- 
derburg. “ I am passionately fond of the opera, Mr. 
Darlington, and I need not tell you that Adelaide is as 
fond of it as myself.” 

“ I have long studied her tastes and desires to gratify 
them,” said Mr. Darlington. He started up briskly, as if 
he suddenly remembered the object of his visit, and said : 
4< I came this afternoon to see Col. Vanderburg, but 
could not resist the temptation of a little pleasant chat 
before business (a bad precedent for a business man), and 
I just dropped in to see you, and to ask how you were 
enjoying this miserable day.” 

“ Oh, we all have the blues,” said Miss Adelaide, with 
an attempt at a sigh, fixing her large, dark eyes on her 
affianced husband. “ Can you not stay with us? ” 

“No, I am a poor physician for a disease with which 
I am afflicted, and as my business with the Colonel is 
important, I beg to be excused,” said Mr. Darlington, 
with a smile. 

“ Of course, if business is preferred to our society, we 
will excuse you,” said Miss Adelaide, with a cold bow. 

“No, dear Adelaide. Business men must neglect 
pleasant duties. But I cannot tarry longer, delightful as 
your society is. My carriage will be here at seven-forty- 
five. Be ready by that time, for the curtain rises 
promptly at eight.” Kissing the jeweled hand which the 
fair 3^-1 ike creature offered him, and saying gayly : “ I 

know where the Colonel keeps himself,” he hastened up- 
stairs and came to the library, which he entered unan- 
nounced. There was quite a contrast between the sad- 


34 


CALAMITY ROW 


faced man sitting before the blazing grate, and hia gay 
young wife in the parlor. He was bowed down by pre- 
mature age. Those wrinkles on his face were more the 
lines of care than the penciling of time. Wealthy and 
powerful as he was, he had an air of having been 
crushed. He seldom smiled, and an expression of per- 
petual sadness had settled on his features. 

Mr. Darlington paused at the door. Col. Vanderburg 
had not heard him, and still sat gazing abstractedly into 
the grate. The intruder advanced to his side and called 
him by name. Looking up, the Colonel said : 

“ Why, Edward ! Be seated and tell me what it is ; I 
know that nothing save business would bring you ?” 

“You are right,” said Darlington, smiling. “I came 
here to talk to you of a speculation.” 

“ A stocks ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ What is it?” 

“ Little River Railroad.” 

“ Where is that road ? ” 

“ Out west.” 

The white head shook in a manner fatal to Darlington’s 
hopes, and the voice of the invalid, faint but firm, said : 

“ Ho — it is not known.” 

“We can develop it and clear a cool million in three 
months.” 

“ How ? ” 

“ Buy up all the stock.” 

“ Do you mean buy up the entire road ? ” 

“Yes, ora controlling interest. We could do it by 
negotiating a little.” 

Again the gray head shook and the feeble voice said, 
“If you lose, it would ruin you.” 

“ But if I win I make a million at least.” Darlington 


THE VANDERBUBGS. 35 

had thrown himself in an arm-chair near. Col. Vander- 
burg fixed those sad blue eyes on him, and asked : 

“ Are you really anxious to own a railroad ? ” 

“Well, yes,” answered the young speculator, coolly 
twirling his mustache between his finger and thumb ; — 
“That is, providing I can get you to help me.” But 
Col. Vanderburg shook his gray head again in a way that 
was final, and said : 

“ No — I am too old and too infirm to run such risks. 
Besides, that small western road is too far away to be 
skillfully managed. The stock wouldn’t sell.” 

“Then you absolutely refuse to go into the enter- 
prise ? ” asked Darlington. 

“I must,” answered Col. Vanderburg, sadly. “It’s a 
bad speculation ; I would advise you to have nothing to 
do with it.” 

Knowing the stern, inflexible will of the white-haired 
man before him, Edward Darlington was convinced of 
the uselessness of any further attempt. He merely said : 
“ Then I must look for assistance elsewhere,” and changed 
the subject. 

He did not remain long with Col. Vanderburg, but 
hurried down to the hall, just stopping at the parlor door 
a moment to assure the ladies that he would call at the 
appointed time, and donning his water-proof and hat, 
took up his cane, and hurrying into his carriage was 
whirled away into the misty rain. 


r 


36 


CALAMITY ROW. 


CHAPTER V. 

ALLIE GKAY. 

If other portions of the city were gloomy, Calamity 
Row was doubly so. The great trestles and the elevated 
railway obscured the light of the brightest days ; but 
when it grew so gloomy that somber shadows gathered 
in the elegant Vanderburg mansion, Calamity Row was 
dismal. 

Old Granny Gride sat in her box waiting for customers, 
her face outlined by the white lace border of her cap. 
She resembled a half-exhumed mummy. A few pennies 
a day was the extent of her trade. Even if her j^rofits 
were one hundred per cent., it would seem strange how 
she could support herself. Old Joe Ruggles, sitting at 
the dirty window of his shop, pegged away although it 
had grown so dark he scarce could see. 

Mrs. Joyce’s little shop was gloomy. Leaning on the 
counter behind which she was standing was a young girl, 
gazing out of the window at the noise and gloom, which 
settled down. It was a sweet, innocent face. I cannot 
say it was sad, yet it was by no means gay. She w 7 ho had 
never been guilty of evil, could smile and be haj^py, even 
with life on Calamity Row. Gold cannot be contami- 
nated by proximity of baser metals, neither was this pure 
soul smirched in the whirlpool of sin about her. 

“ I think we had as well close up shop, Allie,” said Mrs. 
Joyce, from the apartment just back of the small shop. 

“ There may be some customers yet,” said Allie, as she 
6 4 -c gazed out upon the muddy street. 

“ It is so gloomy,” said Mrs. Joyce, as with her spec- 


ALLIE GBAY. 37 

tacles mounted on her nose she came to the front apart- 
ment. 

“ It’s very gloomy,” and Allie sighed wearily, not 
sadly. “There is Jake — I do hope he will not get into 
mischief again, on uncle Joe’s account. 

“I believe Joe Ruggles did wrong,” said Mrs. Joyce. 

“ Why — and in what way ? ” asked Allie, her large 
blue eyes growing round with astonishment. 

“ In paying for that kid’s breaking Granny Gride’s 
glass jar.” 

“ Perhaps the lesson he learned will do him good,” an- 
swered Allie, her large blue eyes growing melancholy. 
“Now Jake is going away, I am so glad on uncle Joe’s 
account, as well as his own.” 

“ JoeRuggles is a dunce,” said Mrs. Joyce. “No won- 
der he’s poor as Job’s turkey. A man always takin’ the 
part of such ioafers ’ll die a pauper.” 

Allie made no response. She loved the old gray- 
haired cobbler and his wife. They had taught her infant 
lips to lisp the first word she ever uttered. It was they 
who taught her baby feet to walk, and reared her through 
helpless infancy, with all the love and care of fond par- 
ents. Their plain but honest faces were among her ear- 
liest recollections. No w r onder she loved them. They 
who had taken in the little waif and brought her up to 
noble womanhood, were worthy of her love. 

Allie Gray had been standing for some time leaning on 
the glass show-case. There was a look in those large blue 
eyes, which had been in them many times before ; it ex- 
pressed a longing which she knew was never to be satis- 
fied. In earlier life this expression had been stronger 
than now ; but time and a busy life on Calamity Row 
had partially driven it away. 

“ Can I go in and sit with uncle Joe and aunt Kate 
fuykile ? ” she asked, 


88 


CALAMITY RO)Y. 


“ To be sure, child, if you wish,” answered Mrs. Joyce. 
“ I don’t think there will be much more to do to*day, and 
I can attend to it.” 

Allie threw alight shawl about her shoulders and darted 
into the dingy little shop of the cobbler. 

“ Why, Allie, little girl,” cried the old man, “ I am al- 
ways glad to see you. Your face makes these dark days 
bright. There’s a chair, dear, sit down ; I know you are 
tired.” 

With a smile on her pretty face Allie seated herself, 
and said : 

“ Uncle Joe, do you never tire yourself? There you 
sit from early dawn until late at night, pegging, pegging 
away, and never think of yourself.” 

“ Why should I, child, when I’ve you and your aunt 
Katy to think of ? ” 

“ But you should think that you may wear yourself 
out one of these days.” 

“Don’t know, child. I’m a pretty tough old fellow, 
and I’ll last a long time yet. The fact is, I’ve been sit- 
ting on this bench for so many years pegging and pegging 
away, that I shouldn’t feel right anywhere else.” 

If industry could have made Joe Ruggles rich he 
would have been as wealthy as Col. Vanderburg, the 
millionaire. But, alas, there are those who toil from 
dawn till dark the year round, and grow no richer in this 
world’s goods. Joe Ruggles was of that class. He was 
not a spendthrift, but he made everybody’s cares his own. 
His willingness to pay for the candy jar to screen a young 
scamp from just punishment, gives the key to his 
poverty. 

“ It’s a gloomy day, girl,” resumed the cobbler, peg- 
ging away upon an old shoe. 

“ Tis very dark,” said Allie, “ Where is aunt Katy ? ” 


ALIAE GRAY. 


30 


“ Katy, old woman ! ” Here’s Allie come,” called the 
cobbler to some one in a rear apartment. In a moment 
there came from the dingy living-room at the rear, a 
woman about the age of uncle Joe. Her kind, motherly 
face was surrounded by a neat cap-border, and, notwith- 
standing the dreariness of the weather and dinginess of 
the shop, was cheerful. 

“ Allie ! — my dear child, you never forget us, do you ? ” 
she cried. 

“ No, aunty, I never can,” answered the beautiful young 
girl. 

“God bless you, child,” said the old lady. “You are a 
perfect treasure to our old hearts. I wish we were rich, 
for your sake.” 

“ I’m afraid you would not be so good if you were 
rich, aunt Katy. You would be thinking of your wealth 
and little of me. Besides, if you were rich I should not 
owe you so much, even if you gave me more. What 
you give comes from the heart, and a blessing with it. 
If you were rich it might come from the purse, and with 
little thought of the act.” 

“ No, no, it would make no difference with us,” said 
the old lady. “ I wish we were rich so we could give all 
ye wanted — ” 

“ Oh, wife, wife ! give us a rest on yer wishes and 
regrets,” interrupted her husband, “ In bewailin’ our fate 
at not havin’ more o’ this world’s goods, we lose the op- 
portunity of enjoyin’ what we have.” 

“ That’s just what your uncle Joe alius says,” the old 
lady said. “ He’s the most contented man I ever saw. 
Why, he never complains no matter what happens.” 

“Ye, see, wife, there’s so much good to be enjoyed in 
this world that I don’t dare grieve at the little bad there 
may be. How ungrateful is a dyspeptic, who overloads 


40 


CALAMITY LOW. 


his stomach, makes himself sick and then grumbles at 
destiny. See this shoe,” and he held up the shoe he 
was mending. “It’s just like us. I’m puttin’ some 
bits o’ new leather on it, to fill up what holes were in it. 
The very places where the leather was weakest, are now 
the strongest. Them things we look on as misfortunes, 
frequently turn out to be blessings. Ain’t that so, 
Alice ? ” 

“I suppose so, Uncle Joe; you wouldn’t say so if it 
wasn’t,” the girl responded. 

“ That’s a good idee, girl,” continued the philosopher, 
pegging away as if his life depended on his finishing the 
job at once. “Take things on faith. It takes a great 
deal o’ faith in this world to insure happiness. We 
can’t have too much faith. The Scriptures say, if we 
had faith, even as a grain o’ mustard seed, we could re- 
move mountains. Now, I believe that’s true. It might 
take some picks, drills, shovels, and blastin’ powder to 
help, but all the picks, shovels, drills and blastin’ powder 
in the world, wouldn’t shake a mole-liill without faith. 
My child, if we have doubts and" fears o’ the future, 
who kin be happy ? Not one on us — not one on us,” 
said the old philosopher, shaking his iron-gray head. 

Aunt Katie was pleased with her husband’s healthy 
philosophy. She loved the old man, who, through so 
many years of poverty, had always been cheerful and 
kind. Prosperity w T as a stranger to them, adversity a 
constant companion. Five children had been born to 
them, but all went to early graves. Other children grew 
strong and healthy in the squalid misery of Calamity 
Row, but theirs faded and died in the poisonous atmos- 
phere. A week or two after burying their last, they re- 
ceived the little waif, Allie Gray, and they had considered 
laer as taking the place of the dead bab^. When sho 


ALLIE GRAY. 


41 


was old enough and had received sufficient education, 
she sought employment with Mrs. Joyce, determined not 
to be longer an incumbrance on the good people who had 
reared her. 

The door of the dingy shop opened, and a tall gentle- 
man, muffled in a waterproof coat, and holding a dripping 
umbrella in his hand, entered. 

“ How d’ ye do, sir ? ” said the cobbler to the stranger. 

“ Is this Mr. Ruggles ? ” asked the stranger. 

“Yes, sir;. J. Ruggles of Calamity Row,” answered 
the cobbler, pegging away. “ Be seated, mister.” 

“ I am William Dempster, pastor of the Fullman 
Street Methodist Church,” said the minister meekly, as 
he sat down in a chair. 

“ Oh, yes! you’re a preacher! ” said the cobbler. 

“I am,” answered the minister, not altogether certain 
of his welcome. But if he had any doubts, the remarks 
of the cobbler fully assured him. 

“ Well, I allers kinder liked preachers, though some 
of ’em are a little stuck up, and don’t seem to take much 
stock in me ; still I bear ’em no malice. It’s all right — 
they do lots o’good, and if there are some high-fliers 
among ’em, it can’t be helped. I won’t say nothin’ agin’ 
their cloth.” 

“ Are you a member of a church ?” 

“ No sir, I don’t belong to nothin’, only my shop.” 

“ I have been informed you are a Christian.” 

“Well, I can’t sav as I’m what’s sometimes called a 
Christian ; I believe in the doctrines, but don’t practice 
’em much in public. I don’t belong to no church, but I 
believe in ’em. ’Cos some people who do belong to ’em 
are hypercrites, the church ain’t to blame.” 

“ Do you know a young lady who stays in the shop 
of Mrs. Joyce? ” 


42 


CALAMITY BOW. 


« Why yes, o’ course I do. That’s her — Allie Gray, 
Mr. Dempster,” said the cobbler, nodding toward the 
young girl. 

Allie rose and bowed. Mr. Dempster observed that she 
was very pretty, with large blue eyes, and golden hair. 
There was a modesty about her, not common with shop 
girls on Calamity Row. 

“ My wife met you,” continued the minister, after a 
short but awkward silence, “and was so much interested 
in you, that I have ventured to make this call unan- 
nounced, and uninvited. Mrs. Joyce said I would find 
you here.” 

“ I have no recollection of meeting Mrs. Dempster.” 
said Allie, somewhat surprised. 

“Doubtless you have not,” said Mr. Dempster. “Yet 
she remembers you. She called at your shop, a -week or 
two ago, for some F rench edging.” 

“ Perhaps — I serve a great many, whom I cannot re- 
member.” 

“No doubt, Miss Gray, — but Mrs. Dempster does not 
forget you. I have come to invite you to attend our 
church.” 

“ Ha ha, ha, ha ! ” laughed the cobbler. “ Our Allie 
has been invited to church. Allie’s a good girl, sir ; and 
whether she goes to meetin’ or not, don’t make any differ- 
ence.” 

“ I am glad you are interested in her,” said the minis- 
ter. “ I hope you and Mrs. Ruggles will also attend our 
church.” 

“ Ha, ha, ha! we go to church! The old cobbler of 
Calamity Row in church ! I don’t object, but some o’ your 
finer congregation might.” 

If Mr. Dempster’s predecessors had failed to gather in 
the wheat, from the tares of Calamity Row, he had deter- 


TENNESSEE AND THE LABORING MAN . 43 

mined not to neglect his duty. During his brief visit, he 
so impressed himself on the old cobbler, that they all 
agreed to attend his church. It was time to close up shop, 
and Allie bidding Uncle Joe and Aunt Katy good-bye, 
returned to her employer. 

The old cobbler gazed into the face of his wife, and 
said : 

“ Katy, that girl is somebody, as sure as you live. 
I only wish I could tell her just who she is.” 


CHAPTER VI. 

TENNESSEE AND THE LABORING WAN. 

Of all characters Fred and Horace had ever met, the 
tall, broad-shouldered Tennesseean W’as the most pecul- 
iar. He was rude to a disagreeable degree ; yet he was 
genial, honest, kind-hearted and brave. He was good- 
natured, even enjoying the jokes at his own expense. He 
would say : “ Ef the boys kin make any fun out o’ me 
let ’em hev’ it.” “Whar ar’ ye gwine ? ” he asked one 
morning, as he met Fred and Horace in the act of leaving 
the boarding-house. 

“ Just out for a walk, that’s all,” said Fred. 

“Ef you fellers ain’t got no objection, I’d as lief go 
with ye as not.” 

“We have no objection,” said Fred. “We would be 
pleased to have your company.” 

“ I’ll go. I kinder like to look about, and stretch my 
legs, anyhow.” 

They went down the quiet street, and were walking 
along an avenue in the direction of the college, wheu they 
came to a grocery store. In the display window were 
eggs, butter, and canvas-covered hams. 


44 


CALAMITY ROW. 


“ Stop here, fellers,” said Tennessee, abruptly halting. 

'“ What are you going to do?” Horace asked, in some 
amazement. 

“ I’m goin’ to buy some eggs.” 

“ Eggs ? What on earth do you want with eggs ? ” 
both Horace and Fred demanded, their amazement in- 
creasing. 

“Eat ’em,” was the laconic response. 

“ Can’t you get eggs at your boarding-house ? ” 

“Yes, — but they are cooked, and an egg biled hard 
enough to knock a bull down, is sorry eatin’.” 

Tennessee went toward the door of the store. The 
basement came out into the street, and a grating extend- 
ed half-way across the sidewalk. He eyed the grating, 
much as a wary horse will a suspicious bridge. “ I won- 
der if the thing will break through,” he said. Reaching 
his toe forward like a boy testing ice on which he fears 
to trust his weight, he tried it, and then bounded quickly 
over. Safely in, Tennessee purchased half-a-dozen eggs, 
and rejoined his companions, putting the eggs in his coat 
pocket. 

“ Come on, fellers,” he said, starting across Calamity 
Row. When about half-way over, an elevated railway 
train thundered above their heads. With a cry of alarm, 
Tennessee sprang from under *the trestle-work and ran 
across the street. His companions followed, laughing at 
his fear. Wheeling about, he looked to see if they had 
gotten safely over. 

“ What was the matter?” Fred asked. 

“ I warn’t gwine to ’low that ingine to drap down on 
my head,” he answered. “ It ’ud smash a feller to eter- 
nity.” 

“ There is no danger,” laughed Fred. 

** Ye can’t convince me o’ that,” answered Tennessee, 


TENNESSEE AXE THE LAEOjRIXG MAX. 45 


“ It might be all right fur fifty years, and then, all of a 
sudding, come tumbling down on a feller. I ain’t a 
gwine to run no chances.” 

Started down the street, Tennessee paused long 
enough to crack the small end of an egg on a lamp-post. 
Picking off the shell, he inserted both his thumbs into 
the small hole, and raising the egg above his mouth, 
swallowed its contents at a gulp. 

“ JVo, sir; fellers,” continued Tennessee, dropping 
the empty shell on the pavement, and taking a second 
egg from his pocket, “ ye don’t ketch me standin’ under a 
railroad train, when it’s gwine like lightnin’. Somethin’s 
liable to give way.” He paused long enough at a dry- 
goods box to crack a second egg — “ Then the "whole con- 
sumed thing would come dow T n on a feller.” 

He swallowed this egg in a manner similar to the first. 
Jake, the mischief-maker of Calamity Row, was near 
enough to observe the singular sight, and calling to 
some comrades about him, said : 

“Jest look there, b’ys, there’s a feller suckin’ eggs on 
the street, jest like he war eatin’ apples.” 

“ D’ye s’pose they sell artificial eggs ? ” Tennessee 
asked. 

“ I should think not,” Fred answered. 

“ I didn’t know but what as these Yankees mought 
get some cheap way of manufacturin’ eggs. That last 
one wan’t no egg, shore as you ar’ born ; no hen ever 
laid that egg.” 

Next day the term opened, and the three students 
were matriculated. Fred and Horace took out their 
course tickets, and Tennessee was entered as a graduate. 

They devoted themselves closely to the lectures and 
quizzes ; and each night found them in the dissecting 
room, Tennessee was soon known in college by his 


46 


CALAMITY HOW. 


sobriquet , and liis rustic drollery made him a general 
favorite, though his rusticity frequently shocked the 
urbane gentility of the East. 

One evening as Tennessee was wending his w r ay to his 
boarding-house, he was accosted by a stranger : 

“ Will you help a poor laboring man ? ” said the 
stranger, with a professional beggarly whine, turning his 
face away, as if he had not courage to look at any one. 

“ Do what ? ” yelled Tennessee, at the top of his voice ; 
for the noise of grinding wheels on Calamity Row 
almost deafened him. 

“ Help — a — poor — laborin’ man,” cried the stranger, 
elevating his voice until the professional beggarly whine 
w r as almost destroyed, yet keeping his face averted. 

“ Why, yes, where is he and what kind o’ help does 
he want?” shouted the generous Tennesseean. At thfs 
moment the rushing of an elevated train was heard, 
Tennessee seized the beggar and dragged him to a safe 
place across the street. 

“ Where is the laborin’ man ? ” he again asked pausing 
on the corner near Granny Gride’s box. 

“ I am the laborin’ man. Been at work here in the 
city, not been paid yet. I want two cents to get across 
the river,” said the beggar with professional sadness. 

“Is that all?” asked the Southerner. 

“ Yes.” 

“ Well, here’s two bits — take it and git some supper 
for yer folks.” 

“ Oh, thank you — thank you,” cried the laboring man, 
with many bows, still keeping his eyes on the pavement. 

“ Never mind that, I don’t keer about two bits ; I allers 
like to help the pore if they are worthy.” 

Tennessee went home, and at dinner related how he 
had met a “ pore laboring man,” from Brooklyn, who 
wanted money to cross the river. 


TENNESSEE AND THE LABORING MAN. 47 


“ But, sir, you didn’t accommodate him — ah — did you ?” 
asked Mr. Vau Orden. 

u Why, of course. I gave him two bits.” 

“ Oh, my gad, what a sucker!” ejaculated Mr. Yan 
Orden. 

“ What a hass,” added Sir Humphrey Harrison. 

“ That don’t mean a dewd, does it? ” asked Tennessee, 
with provoking coolness, as he filled his mouth fuller than 
strict table etiquette permits. 

“Ah — sir?” cried Mr. Van Orden, clapping an eye- 
glass to his eye and gazing fiercely at the cool Tennes- 
seean. “ Do you mean that as a slur, sir — ah — what do 
you mean — ah ? Explain yourself, sir ! ” 

“Yes, sir, if you mean any hinsinuation on me, Hi shall 
resent the hinsult,” put in the cockney, with fierceness. 

“I don’t exactly know what you mean,” said Tennes- 
see, chewing voraciously; “but ef ye mean yer sorry 
British blood’s got riled, I kin cool it down fur ye, as our 
grandfathers did at Bunker Hill.” 

“ W’at do you mean, sir, by Bunker ’ill ? W’ats that 
got to do with your being a hass ? ” cried the unterrified 
Englishman. 

“Oh — I jest mention it cos’ it was thar Johnny Bull 
first learned how hard the American donkey could kick. 
Ef yer great-grandfather hasn’t told ye, I can soon con- 
vince ye its ’nough to make one sick.” 

Mrs. Billington entered at that moment, and by her 
ready skill and tact speedily restored peace among her 
guests. The good-natured Tennesseean forgave the irate 
Englishman, who had no desire to learn anything about 
the American donkey. 

A few days later, Tennessee was met on the street by 
a laboring man very much resembling the former, who 
mumbled out something he could not understand, espe- 
cially as his face was averted. 


48 


CALAMITY ROW. 


“ Well, what d’ye want?” he asked. 

“ If you please, sir! ” he began in a very humble whine 
averting his habitually sad face, “ I am only a poor la- 
borin’ man. I live in Brooklyn, and haven’t money 
enough to cross the river. I never asked this before ; 
I’m not a beggar, but I’m in such distress — ” and he 
almost broke down. 

“ Sartinly, sir, sartinlv,” said the Southerner. “ I don’t 
object to helpin’ a man who wants to go home. Thar’s 
two bits ; I reckin that’ll take you, an’ git supper be- 
sides.” 

“ Oh, thank you, sir, — thank you, — may you never,” — 
but at this moment an elevated train thundered above, 
and Tennessee, who was standing beneath the trestle- 
work, fled before the parting blessing was completed. 
The laboring man crossed to the other side of Calamity 
Row, and was wandering along, when he suddenly came 
face to face with a pair of ill-favored rascals. 

“ Helloa, Duno, what racket are you on now ? ” asked 
a bold-faced man with short, grizzled beard. The two 
men were of that class known as “dock-rats.” Each had 
a basket on his arm, in which were fishing-lines, small 
fish and eels. The laboring man said : 

“ I’ve been pickin’ up a few pennies as an honest 
laborin’ man.” 

“Made it pay? ” asked the first speaker, while his less 
loquacious companion smoked a black pipe in silence. 

“Yes, in a small way,” Duno answered, his eyes on 
the curbstone. 

“ You’re a coward, Duno. Why don’t ye do some- 
thin’ big, and get your name in the papers.” 

“Yes, an’ be strung up or sent to the Island ! ISTo, 
no ; I warned you and Pike, but you seem to have heads 
o’ yer own. Burke, you’ll be sorry some day you didn’t 
take my advice.” 


TENNESSEE AND THE LABORING MAN. 49 

u W e’re only honest fishermen, ye know. They call 
us dock-rats; but for all that, it’s better than bandin’ 
round on the laborin’ man’s penny-lay. We’ve never 
been to the Island yit ; have you?” asked Burke. 

The laboring man started, and glanced uneasily about 
him. “ There’s a cop watchin’ us,” he said in a whisper. 
“ We’d better move on.” 

They walked down the street, turned a corner, and 
were soon out of sight of the policeman. When they 
were out of sight, Burke, who was the spokesman of the 
wharf-rats, asked : 

“ Andy Duno, can you read ?” 

“ Yes,” the laboring-man answered. 

“Read writin’?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well we may strike somethin’ rich soon. I don’t 
know for certain ; but we may. It’s not dangerous, and 
then there is big pay in it.” 

“D’ye want me to help?” Duno asked eagerly. 

“We may,” answered Burke; “ we’ll want some ’un as 
can read writin’.” 

“I can- — I’m a good reader,” said Duno, greedily, — 
“ when ye want me let me know. I’ll be about Calamity 
Row watching for my southern greeny — ” 

At this moment the policeman came round the corner 
twirling his billy about in his hand, and the three evil- 
looking characters slipped away in different directions. 

Nearly a week passed, when Tennessee was a third 
time accosted by a laboring man who had a family 
across the river, whom he was very anxious to reach that 
evening. Tennessee gave him all the small change he 
had about his person, and with many thanks, the laboring 
man hastened away. 

“ I may be a fool fur doin’ it,” said the Southerner, 
“ but if I give with a good intention, I’m doin’ good.” 

i 


50 


CALAMITY BOW. 


He was strongly impressed that the three laboring 
men were one, and he began to have vague suspicions 
that he was being made a victim. Three days later, he 
was returning from college, when, as he entered Calam- 
ity Row en route for the more quiet street on which Mrs. 
Billington’s boarding-house stood, a familiar figure 
stepped before him, and accosted him with, — 

“ Mister, can you do a favor to a poor laborin’ man ? 
I live across the river in Brooklyn, and came over to 
find work. I failed to get it, and want to go back home 
to-night, but haven’t money to pay my ferriage.” 

“ See here, stranger ! ” said Tennessee. “ It seems to 
me that I’ve paid your way across that river about often 
enough. Ef I ain’t mistaken I’ve given you money 
enough in the last six weeks, to pay you across that 
river six dozen times. I don’t care whether you are a 
laborin’ man or not, but ef you come across me agin, I’ll 
give you a dog-goned good lickin’, perlice or no perlice. 
How that’s the wood with the bark on’t.” 

The laboring man cast a glance at the square-shouldered 
rustic from the wilds of the Cumberland. He read that 
his game had failed, and with a half-whined apology, 
turned about and hurried away. 


CHAPTER VII. 

A ROMANTIC ADVENTURE. 

Twilight came early in Calamity Row. The rays of 
the sun on dark days failed to chase night’s shadows 
from benearth those giant trestle-works. The houses 
were tall, and the smoke from adjoining factories and 
the river seemed to have settled like a pall in the dark 


A ROM AX TIC ADVENTURE. 


51 


street. There was no uniformity of repulsiveness in the 
look of the buildings. Some were much taller than 
others, some darker ; and all had a sooty appearance. 
They showed thriftlessness in the dirty windows and 
loose-hanging shutters. 

Fred Saunders, and that singular character whom we 
have dubbed “ Tennessee,” were returning by the way 
of Calamity Row. Tennessee had given no more money 
to “ laboring men,” anxious to go to Brooklyn. He 
might be deceived by some other beggar or swindler, 
but they could never “ come the laboring man dodge ” 
on him again. 

The night was hastened by the dark clouds which 
hovered over the city. A car halted to allow some pas- 
sengers to get off, and as the horses tugged and strained 
to start, their steel-toed shoes struck out from the cobble- 
stones a shower of sparks, which flashed angrily in the 
dark street. 

“ Pore hosses,” said Tennessee, whose heart was 
touched at the indication of suffering of either man or 
beast. “ It don’t take long to kill a hoss, workin’ him to 
them kears.” 

“ I suppose not,” said Fred. 

“ They work a sorry lot to street kears. The country - 
has to keep the city supplied with hosses, just like it 
does with people.” 

“ Of course,” said Fred. 

“ It’s cruel to bring them pore critters from the coun- 
try, where they’ve been used to green pastures and soft 
earth to walk on, and shady trees to lie under, to this 
mean town, where their feet never touch anything soft- 
er’n a cobble-stone. Not one hoss in a hundred what 
comes here will ever git out o’ the city alive. They may hev 
dreams o’ quiet pastures so green, with cool shades 


52 


CALAMITY ROW. 


an’ clear, runnin’ springs o’ water, but they’ll never 
see ’em agin.” 

Fred, at this moment, saw a fairy-like creature cross- 
ing the street. It was only a young shop-girl, but her 
faultless figure and graceful carriage at once attracted 
his attention. She tripped lightly along to the crossing, 
heedless of the crashing roar of the train overhead, 
which made Tennessee nervous. Street-cars and other 
vehicles were thick at the crossing, and the young shop- 
girl frequently paused to wait for an opening. At times 
the street was blocked, and then the oaths of teamsters, 
cracking of whips, and grinding roar of wheels, would 
have appalled one less accustomed to such scenes. 

She continued her way without getting confused or 
alarmed. There was no policeman at the crossing, as 
there were on more fashionable, and less crowded, 
thoroughfares, to curb the fiery zeal of teamsters. Sud- 
denly above the wild confusion came a warning cry. 
There was a surging, rushing sound, a crash of collision, 
and then a roar of wheels. More shouts of alarm — and 
further down the street could be seen a huckster’s horse, 
without a driver, dashing furiously through the crowded 
mass, dragging a wagon after him. Teamsters shouted, 
and snapped their whips at the frightened animal to stop 
him ; but finding it all in vain, pulled up out of his way. 
With a tremendous crash the wheel of the huckster’s 
wagon ran against some other vehicle, and for an instant 
the runaway was checked. But it tore loose, and again 
horse and wagon plunged forward. It struck again, and 
again freeing itself, thundered on. 

From the first cry of alarm, Fred Saunders fixed 
his eyes on the shop-girl, who, with her bundle, was only 
half-way across. Everybody realized that a crisis was at 
hand and no one more than the frightened shop-girl. 


A ROMANTIC ADVENTURE. 


53 


“ God have mercy on her ! ” gasped Fred, holding his 
breath. A human being was struggling for life, and he 
powerless to aid her. One moment she seemed almost 
out of danger. There was an opening. She started for 
safety, but at that instant a frightened teamster, intent 
only on saving his miserable old cart, lashed his horse 
between her and the sidewalk. The efforts to stop the 
infuriated horse by beating him over the head, drove him 
to frenzy. Inspired by the terror of a panic, he leaped 
and plunged madly. Fred and his companions were 
speechless with terror for the poor girl. Now she is safe 
again — now she is undoubtedly lost. On, leaping and 
plunging, like some monster struggling through a raging 
sea, comes the runaway horse. 

“ Tennessee ! ” cried Fred, “ she will be crushed to 
death.” 

But the rustic doctor from the Cumberlands, who was 
afraid of elevated trains, had no fear of horses. Quickly 
drawing off his coat he laid it across the letter-box on 
the lamp-post, and, with remarkable coolness, said : 

“ Not while I’m able to ketch a hoss. I’ve held two 
bigger’n that.” 

At this moment she ran through the opening. But, 
like a monster determined on her destruction, the horse 
burst through the circle of vehicles surrounding it, and 
bore down on her. Ilis eyes were madly glaring, his 
teeth gleamed from the parted lips, and fire-sparks dashed 
from the flying hoofs. It was time for instantaneous 
action. Two forms sprang from the sidewalk into that 
whirlpool in the street. 

“Save the gal, and I’ll stop the hoss !” yelled Ten- 
nessee, in a voice like the ring of a trumpet. The doctor 
leaped at the animal’s head, seized him by the bit, and 
hurled him back on his haunches, amid a clatter of hoofs 


54 


CAL AMITY BOW. 


and shower of sparks. At the same moment, Fred 
Saunders caught the girl in his arms, but not quickly 
enough to prevent the wagon wheel striking her on the 
shoulder. With a shriek of pain and terror she swooned. 

Fred Saunders carried the insensible girl to the curb- 
stone, and paused near a lamp-post until she should 
recover. A policeman came up, brandishing his club, 
and threatening somebody with violence. The owner of 
the runaway slipped through the crowd, took his team, 
and drove away. 

“ Are you the owner of that horse?” he asked, walking 
up to Tennessee. 

“No; I’ve got a dog-gone sight better hoss, down in 
Tennessee.” 

“Where is the owner?” asked the officer. 

“ I don’t know ; he went skulkin’ away with his hoss 
an’ wagin, about the time you came up.” 

“What are you doing here, anyway?” demanded the 
policeman fiercely. 

“ Nothin’, only stoppin’ that runaway hoss, you city 
fellers was afeared to tackle.” 

The policeman cleared the crossing of vehicles, and 
then looking about, saw Fred Saunders holding the in- 
sensible girl in his arms. 

“ Is she hurt ? ” he asked, advancing toward them. 

“ I think not badly — she has swooned,” Fred answered, 
gazing into the pale sweet face. 

“Is she an acquaintance or relation of yours? ” 

“ No ; I never saw her until a moment ago, when I ran 
in to drag her from beneath the wagon wheels.” 

“ I’ll get an ambulance and take her to the station,’' 
said the policeman. 

“ Who ? ” asked Tennessee. 

“ The girl.” 


A ROMANTIC ADVENTURE. 


55 


“No you won’t. You’re not gwine to take a pore gal 
to the calaboose, jest bekase on account o’ your keerless- 
ness she gits run over an’ killed, or knocked senseless.” 

“ Is she anything to you ? ” asked the policeman haugh- 
tily. 

“ No. 

Then, sir, mind your own business.” 

“If you’d a minded yours, this wouldn’t ’a happened.” 
quickly retorted Tennessee. 

The policeman would very much have liked to cudgel 
the Southerner, but he turned his attention to Fred, as 
likely to prove the most reasonable. 

“ I think, sir, the young lady ought to be taken to the 
hospital, where her injuries can receive immediate atten- 
tion,” he said. 

“Wait a moment, she is recovering,” Fred answered. 
His fair charge began to show signs of returning con- 
sciousness. The eyelids trembled and opened. Fred 
saw only a pair of large blue eyes looking out from a 
profusion of golden curls, tangled and disordered by the 
accident. In a moment she recovered herself, and assur- 
ing her rescuer she could stand, he trusted her weight to 
her feet, yet keeping an arm about her waist, as if reluc- 
tant to give her up. 

The injured girl assured all that she was not seriously 
injured, and was ready to walk home. 

“ Will you accompany her? ” the officer asked of Fred, 
who still remained at her side. 

“Yes, with the young lady’s permission,” was the quick 
response. “ What is your street ? ” 

She answered, “Calamity Row.” Fred started. Could 
it be possible, a being so fair and pure as she lived on 
Calamity Row ? 

The young woman was still dizzy, and clung to the arm 


56 


CALAMITY BOW. 


of her rescuer, as they walked along the crowded pave- 
ment. Tennessee went before, clearing the way. 

“What is your name ? ” Fred asked. 

“ Allie Gray” was the answer. 

“ Where were you going ? ” 

“To take a bundle of goods to the purchaser. 

“You are ?” 

“Mrs. Joyce’s shop-girl,” was the answer. He asked 
a few more questions, as to the extent of her injuries, 
which she assured him were trifles. The door of Mrs. 
Joyce’s shop was reached. There, with many thanks, 
Allie bade him adieu. The walk to Mrs. Billington’s 
■was silent. 

Fred could not say that his new acquaintance was a 
dazzling beauty, though he thought her very pretty, He 
remembered only a pair of great blue eyes looking at him 
from out a mass of tangled ringlets. Their softness and 
beauty seemed to enter his heart, and permeate every 
fiber of his body. 

The adventure was an ordinary one, after all ; yet that 
sweet, pale face, and the lovely blue eyes, had made a deep 
impression on Fred Saunders, which only deepened with 
time. 

Allie Gray ! Who was she, and why should she make 
such impression on this ambitious youth, who had turned 
away from the smiles of the fairest belles of the Western 
cities ? 


THE 1 VOOLEN-LEGGED SAILOR . 


57 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE WOODEN-LEGGED SAILOR. 

Not far from the street that we have called Calamity 
Row, we find a dock extending far out into East River. 
It is the longest dock on the New York side, and ships of 
considerable size lie up at this wharf. The docks on the 
day to which we call the reader’s special attention, pre- 
sent a lively scene. On the left, nearest the shore, is a 
coal barge unloading. On the opposite side of the dock 
lies a . schooner discharging a cargo of wood into carts 
ranged along the side to receive it. Men and large boys, 
in their shirt sleeves, are busy pitching the wood from 
the schooner’s deck to the edge of the wharf, and from 
the wharf to the carts. Farther down, on either side of 
the pier, lie schooners, barges, sloops, lighters, and two 
or three great ships unloading their cargoes, presenting 
a varied and animated scene, full of life, incident and 
energy ; it is a scene on which the eye does not soon tire 
of gazing. 

Tennessee, who had strolled down to the dock on this 
pleasant Saturday afternoon for a breath of fresh air, 
paused for a few moments and gazed about in happy be- 
wilderment. The vessels, the forest of masts, the cries 
of the sailors, the shouts of officers, the sharp whistle of 
pipes, the creaking of cordage ; all these were fresh and 
new to him. Across the river was Brooklyn, with its 
thousands of tall brick houses, slate roofs, and glittering 
spires, looking like some fairy city in the distance. The 
great bridge which unites the two cities is so high that 


CALAMITY ROW. 


58 

it seemed painted on the sky. Up the river, half con- 
cealed in a pale-blue mist, like some brilliant painting 
seen through a gauzy canvas, was Blackwells Island, its 
tall public buildings forming a bright background to the 
picture. The shining harbor w T ith its sparkling waves 
and thousand vessels made up the foreground. 

“ This is the purtiest sight I’ve seen yit,” said Tennes- 
see, walking down the wharf toward its head, w^here a 
group of those nondescript personages called “ w T harf- 
rats ” were engaged in fishing. 

“ Fishin’, eh ? ” said Tennessee, approaching an ill- 
looking fellow', wdiose dirty, bloated hand held a line. 

“Yes,” growled the angler sullenly. 

“ Purty good luck ? ” 

“ Haw ! — luck nothin’ : got two bites to-day, — one 
dog-fish an’ t’other a mud-eel,” growled the fellow sav- 
agely, turning his evil-disposed face toward his inter- 
locutor. Calamity Row was represented at the dock : 
Jake and some of his companions were there. 

“ Hope I die, b’ys, ef there ain’t the feller what w r as 
suckin’ eggs on the street,” Jake whispered to his com- 
panions at sight of Tennessee. 

“Guess he’ll not make much o’ Pyke,” Jake added, 
nodding tow r ard Tennessee. 

“Haw, ye bet he w r on’t. Pyke’s a brick, he is, an’ ef 
he’s on a lay, it’s a deep un. He’s not like Andy Duno, 
all’us hangin’ round to beg a penny from some greeny.” 

“ Andy’s a rascal, an’ so’s Burke and Pyke. They’ll 
all fetch up in Sing Sing or be hung,” said Jake, 
putting a fresh bait on his hook, and tossing it into the 
water. 

“ She’s a big one, ain’t she ? ” said Tennessee, pausing 
at the stern of a large topsail schooner, which lay at the 
end of the dock. Tennessee’s eyes were turned toward 
the tall tapering masts. “ She’s a whopper, I tell ye.” 


THE WOODEN LEGGED SAILOR. 


59 


If he addressed atiy one, it was a seedy-looking fellow, 
who grew uneasy at the proximity of the broad-shoul- 
dered doctor, and edged away as if he feared the giant 
from the Cumberlands might pitch him off the dock. He 
turned about uneasily when Tennessee caught sight of 
his features. The doctor started, and for a moment was 
confused, then with an amused smile on his face, he 
stepped forward, and laying his hand on the seedy man’s 
shoulder, said : 

“Say, feller, ain't ye. got across the river yet ?” 

“ What d’ye mean ? ” growled the seedy man, trying 
to fix his cowardly eyes on the Southerner. 

“ I mean what I say. I axed ye ef ye hadn’t got 
across the river. I’ve given ye money enough to cross 
fifty times, an here ye ar’ agin.” 

“You’re mistaken,” growled Duno, turning to go. 

“ Ho, I ain’t ; I know a haw'k from a dove, and a 
skunk from a hare.” 

“You’re mistaken, sor. Let me go, or I will call the 
police.” 

“Just as soon you’d call ’em as not. It don’t make 
no difference to me. I ain’t a whinin’, crawlin’, con- 
temptible, low beggar and thief, goin’ about stealin’ all 
the ginerosity from people’s hearts, so’s they don’t know 
rale charity when they see it. Ho, I never done any o’ 
them things ; and now, ef ye want to call the perlice, 
do it ! ” 

The fellow slunk away into the crowd of wharf or 
dock-rats which had gathered about them. 

“Burke !” said Duno, on joining his acquaintance, at 
the other side of the dock, “ that feller from the South 
who has been taken in so often on the laborin’ man’s lay, 
has tumbled to the racket, and’s about to chuck me in 
the river.” 


CALAMITY ROW. 


60 

“ You ain’t in no danger, fool. Besides, you’ve never 
helped us, an’ I ’spec! ye’d ’bout as soon give us up to 
the perlice as not.” 

“No, no, Burke; ye know I told you I’d help in that 
affair o’ yours. I can read, ye know.” 

“ Hush, fool, or some one will be sure to hear ye ; a 
cop’s cornin’ down the dock.” 

Burke and Pyke resumed their sullen attention to 
their floats. The policeman sauntered down the dock, 
and seeing all quiet, turned about, and stalked away. 

Tennessee’s attention was now directed to a coal-sloop, 
corning into the dock. A small tug was urging it to the 
shore. No one was visible on the sloop, save a wooden- 
legged sailor, whose grimy face was so black as to make 
even his race doubtful. But there was a cheerfulness in 
his manner which more than offset the coal-black on his 
face. Tennessee was an amused observer. Occasionally 
the sailor turned to shout “ port,” or “ starboard ” to the 
man at the wheel or to the pilot of the tug. 

“Now she rounds beautifully — beautifully,” cried the 
6ailor. “ There, port a little, steady — steady.” 

“Wonder what all that means and who he’s talkin’ 
to, or is he jest talkin’ to the crowd,” said Tennessee to 
himself. 

“ Hello, shipmate, will ye take a line for me ? ” asked 
the wooden-legged sailor, of Burke, as he held the line 
ready to toss. The dock-rat stood sullen and silent. 
“ Will ye take a line fur a messmate ?” 

“ I ain’t no wharf-master,” growled Burke. 

“But maybe ye’ll accommodate a shipmate.” 

“I ’tend to my own business,” growled Burke, sul- 
lenly. 

“ Well, shiver my timbers ! ” cried the sailor, “ ef you 
ain’t the most selfish set o’ landlubbers that ever came 


THE WOODEN-LEGGED SAILOR. 


61 


athwart my weather beam. D’ye think ye kin always 
sail without askin’ a favor ? Sometime in the voyage o’ 
life ye’ll find some one as stubborn as you are, and then 
jest think of poor Jack. Will no one here take a line 
for me ? ” 

“ I’ll do it,” shouted a voice as hearty and good-natured 
as the sailor’s. “ Throw yer rope out here and I’ll tie 
her up if I kin. I don’t make it a rule to ’tend other 
people’s business, unless they ax me, but them chaps there’s 
got somethin’ the matter with ’em to-day.” Tennessee 
braced himself and stood ready. 

“ A messmate after my own heart. Steady, friend — 
here she comes.” 

With a graceful swing, the sailor sent the line whizzing 
through the air, and it fell at the feet of Tennessee. He 
stooped and picked it up. 

“ Where’ll I tie it?” he asked. 

“ Take a turn round that post to break the headway,” 
said the sailor, “ and then move on up to the next, and then 
the next, and next, until you warp her into the dock.” 

“ Oh yes, stranger, I understand,” said Tennessee. “I’ve 
hitched many a mule to a sapling that way.” 

The rope was much larger and more inconvenient to 
handle than a mule rope. It was no light load to carry 
so many feet of towline, and when he reached the great 
post he made several ineffectual attempts to make it fast. 
The sailor, seeing he was doing his best, was too good- 
natured to criticise him. 

“ Take it to the next,” said Jack. “ Mebbe ye kin get 
a turn on it. Be quick, messmate, the current’s strong, 
and the bow is beginnin’ to sheer a leetle.” 

The nautical language was not so clear to Tennessee as 
© © 

it would have been to an old salt, but he understood suffi- 
cient to carry the cable at a run to the next post. 


62 


CALAMITY LOW. 


“ Say, boss, le’ me help ye give it a turn,” said a boy 
at his side. 

“ All right, youngster, ef ye know more about it’ll I do, 
ye kin take the lead.” 

The lad was Jake, of Calamity Row. Jake’s knowledge 
was, beyond a doubt, superior to Tennessee’s ; for he 
took the heavy line and slipped the loop over the moor- 
ing-post, without the least difficulty. 

“ Wall now, I declare, ye ar’ a smart boy,” said Ten- 
essee. “Ye know a blamed sight more about it’n I do.” 

“ Ye’r kinder green yit, boss,” said Jake, “ I’m areg’lar 
old salt, I am. I’ve laid about these docks an’ helped 
warp in many a ship.” 

“ Are you a sailor ? ” 

“ Well, boss, not exactly that; but the very next thing 
to it.” 

As the coal sloop was rounded to and brought in, Ten- 
essee looked about for the three men who had refused to 
take the sailor’s line ; but they were nowhere to be seen. 

“ I say, boy, d’ye know who them three fellers ar’, that 
wouldn’t take the rope an’ help in with the ship ? ” he 
asked of Jake, who stood by his side. 

“ Yes, they are Burke, Pyke, an’ Duno. Andy Duno 
stands round on the corners, beggin’ fur a few pennies a 
day to git across the river. The other two don’t do 
nothin’ but fish, but they are suspected o’ bein’ reg’lar 
•thieves.” 

“Oh, I understand now,” said Tennessee. “Do you 
know that feller on the boat ? ” 

“Yes, nearly everybody ’bout here knows old Jack 
Bolin. He’s the best salt that comes to this port. He 
gives away all he makes.” 

The sloop having been made fast, the tug cast off, headed 
down stream, and went puffing away, while old Jack Bo- 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 


63 


lin, with wonderful activity, considering his wooden leg, 
leaped from the deck of the sloop to the dock. 

“Messmate,” he said, seizing Tennessee’s hand, and 
shaking it warmly, “ you’ve got a heart as big as any 
Jack-tar afloat, ef ye can’t belay a line. Now, when the 
wharfinger comes and receives my sloop, I’ll take you’ll 
the kid up to the saloon and stand treat.” 

Tennessee was strictly temperate, and excusing him- 
self, walked up the street to his boarding-house. 


CHAPTER IX. 

AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 

Night again, and the great city all ablaze with light. 
The street-lamps and shop windows of Calamity Row 
give it a j^artial light, but there are so many shadows in 
the street — as there are over the hearts of the miserable 
inhabitants — that it never seems bright and cheerful. 
The people who hurry about this street have a strange 
unrest — an unnatural weariness. The children while 
engaged in sport, have a wild, worn look in their merri- 
ment, a haggard expression, seen even through the dirt 
on their grimy faces. Their sports and plays are mock- 
eries. Their laughter is wild and mad, more like despair 
than merriment. They look like little old men and 
women, whose sinews and flesh have hardened with their 
consciences. They tire in this mad race, but cannot 
stop. There is no stop save death. Even Jake, whose 
bent for mischief, and whose incongruous dress gave him 
a clownish appearance, seemed to enjoy only a mad, mis- 
erable pleasure. Those barefooted boys and girls playing 
on Calamity Row really knew little of childhood hap- 
piness. 


64 


CALAMITY ROW. 


Jake was sauntering down the miserably dark street 
when he espied their old enemy, the Italian. He sounded 
a shrill whistle, which brought a dozen comrades about 
him in a very short time. 

“There’s that rag-picker, b’ys,” he said in a cautious 
tone, fearing he would frighten him, before they had an 
opportunity of administering the punishment he deserved. 
“ How gather up stuns — all git stuns, and fire ’em at 
him.” 

The urchins needed no second bidding, and began 
to explore the dirty gutter with their fingers, for pebbles 
and small stones. The rag-picker was pursuing his 
humble avocation, nor dreamed of a hostile foe. He was 
bending over a barrel of ashes, gouging his hook into it, 
when “ whiz,” came a stone near his head striking the 
pavement a rod beyond. As he started up with a fright- 
ened air, another hit the pack on his back. The tor- 
mentors were in ambush behind boxes, iron pillars, cellar 
doors, and dirty stoops, from which they poured in a 
constant fire on the rag-picker. To contend with an in- 
visible foe was folly, and he beat a retreat at once. His 
line of retreat was again near Granny Gride’s stall, and 
for a moment she was in great trepidation concerning 
the welfare of her stock of goods. But they safelv 
passed her, and the boys with deafening shouts pursued 
the Italian up the street. The Italian darted across the 
net work of steel rails which covered the crossing, and 
turned a corner in the wild hope of escaping. As he did 
so he passed an old wooden-legged sailor. 

“Ho, ye lads! tack ship, or I’ll be into yer weather 
bows,” he shouted, as two or three of the most impetuous 
imps dashed against him. “ Lay to, — lay to there, men 
o’ war. D’ye know what sloop ye’re chasin?” 

“Le’ me go,” shouted one whom he had seized by the 
dirty coat-collar. 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 


65 


“ If ye’ll ’bout ship and scud before the wind, ye little 
land-shark, ye kin go ; but if ye run about my game leg, 
why, shiver my timbers if I don’t lash ye to my knee ; 
and make a cat-o’nine out o’ my open hand ! ” 

It was bad policy for any one who wished to travel 
peaceably about Calamity Row to arouse the boys. They 
surrounded the old sailor, and began pelting him with 
pebbles and mud. Jake recognizing Jack Bolin as an 
old friend, refused to have anything to do with the pun- 
ishment. He even tried to keep the others off. 

“ Let ’em alone, — they ’ll be sick o’ this breeze afore 
the storm’s over,” said the sailor, squirting some tobacco- 
juice in the eyes of one, which sent him howling down 
the street. “ There’s a good supply o’ ammunition 
aboard, jest come on,” laughed Jack. A moment later 
he let fly in the eyes of two more, and they went roaring 
away into the darkness. The old tar soon put the war- 
like urchins to flight. 

“Jack, I didn’t hev nothin’ to do with it,” said Jake, 
coming forward and offering to help rub the mud off the 
sailor’s cap, jacket, and trousers. 

“ I know ye didn’t, lad! No harm’s done. They’ll 
see clearer when their eyes quit hurtin’. Why war 
the boobies chasin’ the rag-picker as if he war a pirate ? ” 

“Well, boss, I’ll tell ye what he done. We were 
playin’ in the street, an’ a little b’y was runnin’ around a 
corner. He didn’t see the rag-picker until he run right 
agin him. The rag-picker slapped the little feller until 
it made him sick. Then we got stuns and drove him off. 
We drive him off, every time he comes round.” 

“ Don’t the police ever overhaul ye?” 

“ Naw ! ” answered Jake. 

By Jake’s aid the mud was pretty well cleaned off his 
clothes, and Jack stamped away, shaking his shaggy head 
and muttering some incoherent sentences. 


66 


CALAMITY BOW. 


Old Jack Bolin had no special object in walking about 
Calamity Row, unless it was to note the changes of thirty 
years. Thirty years ago he sailed from New York, on his 
first voyage, young and full of vigor. - Though he had fre- 
quently returned, his home had been on the wave ever since. 
Thirty years had made a change both in Calamity Row 
and the sailor. It was not improved in cleanliness, while 
in noise and crowded buildings, the increase had been 
wonderful. The old man was leisurely passing the queer 
little box-like shop of Granny Gride. In the dark back- 
ground of the interior, looking very much as if she had 
been painted there, — she sat so still and motionless, — was 
the old woman. The white lace cap-border outlined and 
made more prominent her dark, wrinkled face. Jack 
glanced twice at her withered figure ; he walked up to 
her stall, and with his hands on the counter, poked his 
head into her queer little house. She was peeling the 
shells from some nuts, and had not noticed him. Jack’s 
breathing first warned her of his presence, then she 
raised her head with a frightened scowl. 

The sailor met the eyes of the old fruit-vender and he 
started back with an incoherent exclamation. Granny 
Gride did not scream or swoon. Poverty and suffering 
had seared her nerves. She could only scowl at him 
with her dim, weak eyes, her astonishment greater than 
her fear. After a moment of surprise Jack placed his 
hand on his head, and said : 

“ Yes, my top riggin ’s all right, and may I never 
take another cruise ef I’m mistaken. It is — yes, it is 
Nancy Gride.” 

• “ Who are you?” asked the old woman, whose imper- 
fect vision did not reveal his features. 

“ Don’t you know me, Nancy Gride? Don’t ye re- 
member Jack Bolin ?” and he leaned over into her gloomy 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. C7 

little shop. The wrinkled face grew paler, and those 
weak eyes opened in surprise, as she stammered, 

“Y-e-s, I know Jack Bolin; but you ain’t he?” 

“ Yes, I am, Nancy Gride, and I’ve cruised all round 
this city a thousand times, "the last sixteen years, hopin’ 
to come across you ; but ye’ve always been out o’ port. 
Was ye tryin’ to slip the cable and keep out o’ my 
way ? ” 

“ No.” 

The answer was sharp as it was short, and yet there 
was intense uneasiness in the old woman’s manner. 

“ Nancy Gride,” said the old sailor, and his grimy face 
grew serious, “ ten thousand things hev happened since 
that awful night. I seem to hev lived a thousand lives 
and died a thousand deaths. I sailed all over the world, 
and tried in every port to find you, but couldn’t. Where 
hev ye been ? ” 

“ In New York.” 

“ Didn’t ye see the advertisement I put in the papers 
fur ye?” 

“ No.” 

“ You war jest as much buried here as if you had been 
at the bottom o’ the sea. But now that I’ve found ye, 
Nancy,” he added, in a faltering voice, “tell me what 
became o’ the child ? — the poor little baby ? ” 

The look of uneasiness in the old woman’s face culmi- 
nated in a shudder ; she groaned, and was speechless. 

“Nance, Nancy Gride, haven’t ye no ballast o’ human 
feelin’ left in that old hulk o’yourn? Tell me where 
the babe can be found?” demanded Jack Bolin, with 
increased earnestness. She fixed her bleared old eyes 
on him a moment and said : 

“ I swear I don’t know.” 

There was a look so fierce in that coal-begrimed face, 


68 


CALAMITY BOir. 


that the old woman uttered a little scream. One brawny 
arm was thrust into the dark little box, and the old sailor, 
clutching her shoulder, said : 

“ Lay to, broadside, Nance, and tell me all about it, or, 
shiver my timbers ef I don’t damage yer weather bows, 
so’s to make yours a short cruise ! ” 

“Oh Jack, Jack, don’t!” she gasped. “Jack, you 
wouldn’t kill a poor old body like me ! ” 

“ Lay to and speak quick ; where’s the baby ? ” he 
demanded. 

“ Take yer hands from me, and I’ll tell yer,” she gasped. 
He did so. Passion was so foreign to Jack Bolin’s 
nature, that he was shocked at himself when he found 
how near he had come to being violent toward a helpless 
old woman. After a few gasps the old woman said : 

“Ye know, Jack, on that night when ye brought the 
kid to me ; — it was a long while ago, Jack.” 

“Yes, ’bout sixteen years ; but heave ahead, and sail 
by the compass.” 

“ Well, ye know I was very poor, Jack,” whined the 
old woman, with the corner of her apron to her bleared, 
weak eyes. 

“ I know ye was, but I told ye I would come for the 
baby ; for you to keep it for me, and I’d pay ye well.” 

“So ye did, but ye know, Jack, that was an awful 
night. So many people got drowned, and I didn’t hear 
from you for so long, that I supposed you were dead — 
that you drowned in going back.” 

“ I wasn’t drowned, I was run down by a tug and had 
both my legs smashed ; one so badly that it had to be 
cut off. My ribs and skull were broke, and I lay in the 
hospital so long, a’most dead, that I forgot everything. 
Soon as I was able to hobble about, I set out to find you 
—but what did ye do with the baby ? ” 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 


69 


“ Don’t look so, J ack — ye frighten me.” 

“Ye needn’t be afraid, Nancy,” said Jack, sadly. “ It’s 
gone now. I wouldn’t hurt a poor old soul like you, even 
though ye deserve it. Where’s the baby ? ” 

“ I couldn’t find you, an’ I was sichapoor old body, — 
so poor I warn’t able to take keer o’ myself, much less a 
child, — and the papers said you were drowned, so I took 
the child to the Orphans’ Home.” 

“ Did ye leave it there ? ” 

“ Yes, but it ain’t there now.” 

“ Who got it ? ” 

“ I don’t know.” 

“Old woman,” said Jack, his sad, earnest eyes “beaming 
with pity and sorrow. “You’ve not only done the 
meanest thing ever done by woman, but maybe lost a 
fortune.” 

Granny Gride’s dim eyes brightened a moment, and 
her face became half expectant. The old sailor, noticing 
the change in her face, continued. “ Did you never go 
to see about the child ? May be it’s there ! ” 

“No, it ain’t. After you advertised, I went to the 
Orphans’ Home to see about it. Some one had taken 
the baby out. There had been a fire, and the books o’ 
the establishment were burned or stolen, so it would be 
impossible to find out who got the baby.” 

“ You said a moment ago that you didn’t see my ad- 
vertisement.” 

“Yes, Jack, I told ye a lie a minute ago, but now 
I’ll tell ye the truth. I did see the advertisement in the 
papers ; but it was several years after I thought ye dead. 
I knowe'd that I ought to ha’ kept the child, but it had 
been gone.” 

“Nancy Gride, you are a fool. Why didn’t ye adver- 
tise the baby ? If it had any relations left, they’d ha’ paid 


70 


CALAMITY BOW. 


ye more’n ye could make in a life-time sellin’ bad apples 
and spoiled candy.” 

“ ’Twarn’t no use,” said Nancy, shaking her head. 
“There war so many children picked up who hadn’t 
parents, that ye never could ha’ found one for this.” 

“Well!” sighed old Jack, “when ye go to Davy 
Jones’s locker, which won’t be long, fer yer voyage is 
about over, the ghost o’ the poor little baby will rise up, 
and not let ye enter the port o’ final rest. We’re both 
nearin’ that great port, where we’ll hev to cast anchor 
forever, and if you kin be contented with that on yer 
soul, it’s more’n I kin do. That child shall be found if 
livin’ ; if dead, it shall have a monument, though it has no 
name to put on it.” 

The disappointed hopes of years were too much for 
the old sailor. His tender heart was stirred to its depths, 
and he walked down the street, brushing the moisture 
from his weather-beaten eyes. 

CHAPTER X. 

RESCUER AND RESCUED. 

Fred Saunders could not banish from his memory those 
soft blue eyes. Sleeping or waking, they haunted him 
with ceaseless persistence. 

“ Why could she not have been the daughter of a mil- 
lionaire?” he asked himself, as he sat alone in his room, 
reflecting on the incident. “ Then I could have fallen in 
love with her, and she with me, and had a grand romantic 
marriage in high life. But a Calamity Row shop-girl — 
bah ! ” 

With a sigh, Fred tried to banish the subject from his 


RESCUER AND RESCUED. 


71 


mind. How foolish of him to sigh. Perhaps he should 
never see her again. That evening as he went to the 
College, accompanied by Tennessee and Horace, they 
walked down Calamity Row, past the small shop of Mrs. 
Joyce. When opposite the shop, the garrulous Tennessee 
said : 

“ Thar’s where Fred’s gal lives.” 

“ Who is she ? ” asked Horace, with a smile. 

“Ain’t ye heerd about his keepin’ a gal from bein’ run 
over the other day ? He pitched right out into the street 
among wagins and hearts, jest as she fainted, toted her 
to the sidewalk, and sot down on an ash barrel with her 
on his lap until she came to, when he took her home. 
Thar’s where she lives.” 

“Why, Fred,” said Horace, “you have grown to be a 
Calamity Row hero. She’s a shop-girl, eh ? ha, ha, ha! ” 

Fred’s face colored, and he bit his lip. His foolish heart 
beat wildly, but he was silent. When he returned from 
college that evening, he tried to avoid his companions, 
that he might, unobserved, linger about the door of Mrs. 
Joyce’s shop, and catch a glimpse of the fairy-like creature 
within. That shop seemed a paradise in comparison to 
other parts of the street. Tennessee would persist in 
keeping at Fred’s side, much to the annoyance of our 
student, and he was forced to pass the shop with only a 
cursory glance inside. Fred had worked himself up to 
such a pitch that he had determined, come what might, 
to see once more the beautiful being he had rescued. He 
would talk with her, and learn something of her past 
history. 

“There may not be any romance about it,” he said to 
himself, “but it will be a pleasure to learn something of 
a pretty girl.” 

There was no idea which he would have rejected so 


CALAMITY BOW. 


72 

quickly as that he could possibly be in love with Allie 
Gray. He could admire a pretty girl without being in 
love with her, and this interest was only adrpiration. 

“ Why, hang it,” he said, “ I have never even had a 
speaking acquaintance with her. I know nothing about 
her ; but she must be ignorant, and on closer acquaintance 
I may find her unattractive, or repugnant.” 

If Fred thought this conclusion had put the pretty 
shop-girl out of his mind, he was mistaken. He lingered 
behind his chums next day, and allowed them to start 
home several minutes before he did. He was compelled 
to cross Calamity Row, in order to reach his boarding- 
house, but why did he linger on that corner, heedless of 
the thunder of aerial trains, the constant roar of vehicles, 
and shouts of teamsters ? He had called himself a fool 
again and again, for thinking of the pretty shop-girl. He 
made up his mind to pass the shop and go on to his din- 
ner, just as an inebriate has frequently resolved to pass 
by the place of his temptation. But when he reached the 
door, like the poor drunkard, he thought he would just 
look in. As Fred looked inside, he espied a green neck- 
scarf which he thought would suit him. Surely there 
was no harm in stepping inside and buying a neck-scarf. 
With his foolish heart beating wildly, he cast a furtive 
glance along the street, lifted the latch of the door, and 
entered the shop. He was at once struck with the neat- 
ness and order of everything. He was so embarrassed 
that he felt like a great, awkward school-boy. 

“ Why am I such a fool ? ” he asked himself. “ I was 
never afraid of anyone before, and I don’t see why I 
should tremble now.” Allie was waiting on the only 
customer in the shop, a tall old woman who seemed very 
particular about her purchases. Mrs. Joyce was not in 
the shop, but her sewing machine could be heard from a 


RESCUER AND RESCUED. 


73 


rear apartment. The tall old woman was hard to suit. 
The shop-girl patiently took down box after box, which 
she opened for her customer. 

“ I don’t find what I want here,” said the customer. 

“ I have shown you all the edging we have, madam,” 
the shop-girl returned. 

“Well, you haven’t got much of a stock,” answered 
the shrill- voiced woman. “Mr. Dempster said you kept 
a full line of French lace, and my husband, Mr. Sniffles, 
said I ought to patronize you ; but I don’t see what I 
want,” and gathering up her skirts, Mrs. Sniffles swept 
toward the front door. She had almost reached it be- 
fore she discovered a young man leaning carelessly 
against the show-case. She gave him a stare as she 
passed out, and muttered to herself : “ He’s come to 

flirt with her. Shop-girls are such hateful creatures.” 

Fred stood calmly observing the young girl put up the 
boxes she had taken down to gratify Mrs. Sniffles. She 
was very pretty in her neat shop-dress and snow-white 
apron. How could she remain so scrupulously clean en- 
gaged in this work ? In spite of himself, Fred was dream- 
ing little day-dreams in which the girl before him occu- 
pied a prominent place. So noiselessly had he entered, 
and so busily had she been engaged trying to please Mrs. 
Sniffles, that Allie had not discovered him yet. 

At last, turning her eyes toward the door, she en- 
countered the grave face of a young man, and started 
slightly, while her face flushed. Regaining her com- 
posure in a moment, with a modest but business-like air, 
she said : 

“ I beg pardon, sir ; have I kept you waiting ? ” 

“No, no, — Miss Gray, I believe,” stammered Fred, in a 
most unreasonable flutter. 

“Yes, sir, — what can I show you?” If she was agi- 
tated, she had schooled herself better than he. 


74 


CALAMITY BOW. 


‘•I think, Miss Gray,” he said, beginning to gather his 
wits, “ you must grow tired showing goods to customers 
who purchase so little.” 

“ Oh, I don’t mind that, sir; it is my business. What 
do you wish to purchase?” she asked. 

“You can do up that green neck-scarf for me. I ex- 
amined it while the old lady was looking at laces and 
edging she never intended to buy. How much is it 
worth?” The shop-girl, taking the cheap article from 
the display window, neatly wrapped it up, and laying it 
on the show-case at his elbow, said : 

“ The price is sixty-five cents.” She stood on the oppo- 
site side of the counter, leaning as gracefully against it 
as if she had posed for a picture. 

Fred counted out the money, and Allie put it in the 
drawer. “Why does he not go?” He is unable to 
tear himself away. “ I hope, Miss Gray, you have not 
suffered from the fright you received the other evening ?” 
he at last said. 

“Oh, no, sir! I have been quite well since. I am 
very grateful to you, for had you not come to my aid, I 
am sure I should have been seriously injured, if not 
trampled to death.” 

“I am very glad I was there to help you. You must 
pardon me, Miss Gray, for taking some interest in one I 
so strangely met.” 

The girl’s face paled and flushed alternately, her blue 
eyes drooped, and she began nervously to pinch up little 
folds in her apron. Fred hated himself for having 
spoken as he did. Some strange spell enchained him to 
the little shop. She leaned slightly against the counter, 
and with downcast eyes and agitated fingers, kept folding 
down foolish little plaits in her apron. 

“I hope you do not think me presumptuous, Miss 


RESCUER AND RESCUED. 


75 


Gray,” he said coolly, “ in expressing a natural desire to 
renew an acquaintance brought about under such circum- 
stances.” 

“ Oh, no, sir,” Allie answered with downcast eyes, her 
nervous fingers still folding meaningless plaits. That 
silver voice and those drooping eyes were dangerous to 
Fred. 

“ I hope our acquaintance is not disagreeable to you?” 
he said, after a moment’s silence. 

“ I should be ungrateful to say so. I owe my life to 
your daring.” 

“ Don’t attempt to make a hero of me, for I should 
make a poor one,” said Fred. “ I really do not deserve 
your praise. Though I caught you beneath the wagon, 
I was really in no danger myself.” 

“ That could hardly be possible, where there were so 
many excited teamsters, and such a jam of vehicles. 
It was certainly dangerous.” 

“Yes, but not for me,” Fred answered. My compan- 
ion was the cheval de bataille on that occasion. He 
seized the horse by the bit and held him, while I rescued 
you with very little danger to myself. However, let us 
be thankful that you escaped unharmed.” 

“ Who is your friend ? ” 

“ His name is D. C. Stonebeater. He is a simple- 
hearted man from the mountain wilds of Tennessee ; 
honest, rude, intelligent, and good-natured,” answered 
Fred, welcoming any theme which might excuse him for 
prolonging the interview. 

“You strangely blend his traits,” the shop-girl said. 

“Why do you think his characteristics strangely 
blended?” 

“You put rudeness and intelligence together.” 

“ If you ever come to know Dr. Stonebeater, or * Tenn- 


76 


CALAMITY ROW. 


essee,’ as we call him, you will discover that I am 
correct. He is rude, with no social culture, and yet he 
is intelligent. He has excellent medical knowledge, is a 
historian, mathematician, understands the natural sci- 
ences, psychology, and almost everything save grammar 
and etiquette. These he seems to ignore. 

“ Why should he be rude, and at the same time schol- 
arly?” Allie asked, her interest in Tennessee increasing 
to such an extent, that her unusual embarrassment van- 
ished. 

“ He is the opposite of that class who affect extreme 
refinement.” 

His eyes met hers, and they dropped, while her 
nervous fingers began once more to fold down plaits in 
her apron. The conversation had seemingly come to an 
end. Why does he not go ? Is he determined to wait 
until he has committed himself ? 

“You may place the rudeness and the eccentricities of 
Dr. Stonebeater on one side of the balance, and his 
kindness and unselfish devotion to his friends on the 
other, and the latter will outweigh his faults,” he at last 
said. 

Again Allie ventured to raise her head, and met his 
calm hazel eye fixed earnestly and steadfastly on her. 
There was, she felt, a truthfulness and honesty about 
him of which her life on Calamity Row had given her 
but few examples. 

There was another lull in the conversation, and Fred 
grew nervous. He glanced from the shop windows and 
was astonished to see that it had grown quite dark. 

“ Excuse me, Miss Gray,” he said, with some agitation, 
“ I had no idea it was so late, I must be going.” 

He bowed and turned about to leave the simp, when 
she called his attention to the fact that he was leaving 


RESCUER AND RESCUED. 77 

his purchase behind him. She took it from the show- 
case and handed it to him. 

“Oh, yes,” he said, turning again toward her. “ Thank 
you. I should have forgotten it.” He put out his hand 
to take the parcel, and his fingers just touched those of 
the girl. An electric thrill seemed to permeate his entire 
system. Again the wild emotions of the heart crushed 
reason to the earth, and Fred Saunders was reckless. 
He dropped the parcel, and seizing Allie’s trembling 
hand, began in a low voice full of passion. 

“ Pardon me, Miss Gray, if I seem rude ; but I must 
see you again — I must know you better.” 

Her blue eyes dropped, and her face had paled and 
crimsoned by turns. His movements were so sudden 
that she was surprised if not frightened. For a moment 
he gazed in silence at the pretty bewildered face, and 
continued : “ Promise me that I can call frequently 

— you must promise me ! -When you come to know me 
you will understand that this — I can not explain it now.” 

She was so confused, she hardly knew what she said. 
She realized that she had consented, and he was gone 
before she knew what answer to make. Bewildered, 
she stood at the counter, her large blue eyes gazing into 
vacancy. 

“ What did I say ? What did he mean ? ” 

“ I am a fool,” Fred mentally exclaimed the moment 
he was on the street. “Ho good can come of it. Heaven 
knows I would not harm her for the world.” A marriage 
with a shop girl from Calamity Row would be an impos- 
sibility. His parents would never consent, nor could he, 
who had always doubted that goodness and purity could 
be indigenous to the metropolis, get his own consent to 
pluck a flower from that slough of vice, even though it 
was the fairest that ever bloomed. “She is good and 


78 


CALAMITY ROW. 


pretty,” he said, as he hurried along, “ but she can never 
be more to me than a pure, beautiful girl.” 

When he reached home, dinner had been over some 
time, but his accommodating landlady had a warm meal 
waiting for him. Fred had a poor appetite, and tempting 
as the dinner was, he ate but little. Going to his room 
he found Horace and Tennessee discussing his absence. 
Fred’s flushed face at once proved their suspicions cor- 
rect. 

“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Horace, “so you called on 
your Calamity Row belle, eh ? ” 

Fred’s face flushed redder still, but knowing it would 
be foolish to fly in a passion, he said : 

“ Gold cannot be contaminated by association w T ith 
baser metals, and a being can be so pure — there is one 
so pure — that a lifetime on Calamity Row cannot stain 
her character. 

“Fred, are you in earnest?” asked Horace. 

“1 am.” The answ T er -was firm and solemn. Heart 
had achieved another triumph over brain. 

“You were more radical than I, Fred, and you are 
first to abandon your philosophy. I am not ready to do 
so yet, and Calamity Row will certainly be excluded 
from my category of virtue.” 

“ A category founded on ignorance can never become 
popular save with the founder.” 

“ One founded on a crazy passion for a pretty girl is 
as far beyond reason,” Horace replied warmly. Fred’s 
cheek grew livid. Both young men were spirited and 
courageous, and it is difficult to tell how matters would 
have terminated, had not Tennessee howled out : 

“ Oh, boys — hush up ! — hush up ! Ov course yer both 
right. Thar’s good ’n bad ’n all places ; and we never 
ought to make up our minds ’bout people from the 


TENNESSEE IN CHURCH. 


79 


clothes they wear or the houses they live in. Wait till 
ye know somethin’ about their hearts, an’ then ye kin 
judge. The poet says: 

Ye may notch it on the palin’ as a mighty risky plan 
To put yer judgment on the clothes that kiver up a man; 

For I hardly need to tell ye how ye often come across 
A fifty dollar saddle on a twenty dollar boss.’ ” 

This brought a smile to the faces of our friends, and 
their threatened quarrel was averted. Having accom- 
plished his object, the doctor tilted his chair back, ele- 
vated his feet to the center table, and locking his hands 
behind his head, launched out into the discussion of a 
disputed medical question. 


CHAPTER XI. 

TENNESSEE IN CHUECH. 

Feed’s mother wrote letters of affection to him, 
charging him to remember to follow the Christian ex. 
amples which had been set before him. Fred had always 
been noted as a steady youth, with spirit enough to 
make life enjoyable, yet with too much manhood to 
stoop to what young blood calls trivial pleasures. 

Mrs. Saunders had the utmost confidence in the sterling 
worth of her son. She believed him strong enough to 
turn his back on temptation and tempters. She knew 
he was too brave to be induced by taunts and jeers, into 
sinful paths. Fred was a strong, brave young man. His 
was a character to be admired, even modeled after. He 
was not one of those brilliant men that set the world 


80 


CALAMITY B 0 IF. 


ablaze with good or evil, but a sober, steady, quiet, un- 
assuming youth, possessing the ambition to be ranked 
honest and virtuous, rather than great. When Fred 
came to New York, his mother, learning that there was 
a Methodist Church near Mrs. Billington’s, and ascer- 
taining the name of the pastor, got her own minister to 
write to him, in regard to her son. Her pastor xiid so, 
hoping the New York brother would call on him, and 
take interest in his spiritual welfare. 

A few days after the events in our last chapter, Fred 
was astonished when Mrs. Billington announced a gentle- 
man waiting in the parlor to see him. 

“ I will come up to his room, if he has no objection,” 
said a pleasant voice, from the foot of the stairway. 

“ Tell him to come up, by all means,” said the bewil- 
dered Fred. 

Horace and Tennessee were in his room, but, knowing 
there could be nothing private in the visit, he asked them 
to remain. A few moments later Mrs. Billington ushered 
into the apartment a tall, fine-looking man with benevo- 
lent features, whose air and general appearance at once 
bore evidence that he belonged to the clergy. Leaving 
him to introduce himself and make known the object of 
his visit, Mrs. Billington tripped down the stairway, and 
disappearing in her boudoir, said : 

“ A preacher. Chacun a son golXt ! ” 

“ You wish to see me, I believe!” said Fred, advancing 
a step. 

“ You are Mr. Saunders?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“ Allow me to introduce myself, — I am William Demp- 
ster, pastor of the Fullman Methodist Church. I have a 
letter from your pastor, Brother Snow, in which he re- 
quested me to call on you, and form your acquaintance.” 


TENNESSEE IN CllUUCH. 


81 


Fred introduced him to his companions, who greeted 
the minister heartily. 

“ This is an unlooked-for pleasure; I did not suppose 
New York ministers would care to look up strangers.” 

“ I don’t know why you should entertain such a 
thought,” said Mr. Dempster. “ We are fishers of men.” 

“ Some on ’em use mighty poor bait,” put in Tennessee, 
who, having seated himself after the introduction, had 
elevated his feet to a chair, and locked his hands behind 
his head. 

“You are right, Mr. Stonebeater,” said the minister im- 
pressed with the rude yet pointed response. u The 
trouble with many of our ministers is, they do not take 
the trouble to study the habits of the fish they try to 
catch.” 

The Rev. William Dempster wore no strait-jacket. He 
could even tell a story which, though pointed and amusing, 
had its morale. There was something about him which 
soon placed the young men quite at their ease in his 
presence. He laughed as heartily as they at good whole- 
some jokes or ludicrous blunders, and seemed more like a 
companion and friend, than any man they had met. 

“ Pardon me, gentlemen,” said Mr. Dempster, rising 
after an hour spent in this pleasant manner. “ I can stay 
no longer, enjoyable as this conversation is. I fear I am 
already trespassing on your time. I hope to see you all 
at church next Sabbath, and any time you may choose to 
come, will be pleased to have you at the parsonage.” 

“ We shall avail ourselves of your kind invitation,” 
said Fred. The good man, once more shaking the hand 
of each, departed. 

“ He’s a jolly good feller,” said Tennessee, as soon as 
the preacher was gone. “I don’t allers like preachers. 
They’re either too hide-bound to ’low their jints to bend, 
6 


82 


CALAMITY ROW . 


or else cold as ice. But this tin’s a jolly good feller, and 
kin do a feller’s soul more good wi’ his jokes, than a hun- 
dred sermons dosed out by some dry old fogy.” 

The young men went next Sunday, to the little brown 
church round the corner. 

As Fred, followed by his two companions, ascended 
the broad steps and entered the vestibule, a bald-headed 
usher came and led them up the aisle to a seat near the 
pulpit. Mr. Dempster had not yet entered. Mrs. Snif- 
fles sat in the pew opposite our friends, and the moment 
Fred entered, recognized him as the young man she had 
seen in Mrs. Joyce’s shop on Calamity Row. Mr. and 
Mrs. Sniffles and their three daughters, Mary, Gracey, 
and Dolly, occupied the same pew. The tall old woman 
fixed her sharp eyes on the young man, to let him under- 
stand that she knew him, and after his deigning to asso- 
ciate with Calamity Row shop-girls, he need not expect 
to be received in that select circle of society, of which she 
was a member. 

The sermon was neither deep nor eloquent, but plain, 
and from the heart. Coming from the heart it never 
failed to reach the heart. 

After dismissing the congregation Mr. Dempster came 
to our friends, and taking the hands of each, he expressed 
Iris pleasure at their presence, and hoped they would come 
again. Introducing Fred to Mr. and Mrs. Sniffles, he 
said : 

“This is a young man from the great West, whose 
mother has placed him under our care, Brother and Sis- 
ter Sniffles, and we must not neglect our duty.” 

“ Oh yes — oh yes, Mr. Dempster, we will take care of 
him,” said Mrs. Sniffles. 

“Ya-as, we’ll take care of him, Mr. Dempster,” as- 
sented the plethoric Mr. Sniffles. It was curious to see 


TENNESSEE IN CIIURCH. 


83 

how quickly the manner of Mrs. Sniffles changed toward 
the youth. This was a young man from “ the great 
West,” — perhaps a silver king, or cattle monarch. The 
very idea conveyed wealth and power, and she cast quick 
motherly glances at her three marriageable daughters, to 
see if their toilets were in good condition. 

“ You must be sure to call on us, Mr. Saunders,” said 
Mrs. Sniffles, her head elevated. “Don’t be at all formal, 
but just come right along ; we are not formal folks.” 

“Ya-as, don’t be formal; we’re not formal,” echoed 
the husband. 

“You see, Mr. Saunders, we can’t in this case make 
the first call, — but, it makes no difference, you know. 
Come on any way — give him our card with our number, 
Isaias ; I know you have our card,” said the anxious 
mother of the three marriageable daughters. 

“ Ya-as, I know I have a card,” the husband answered, 
thrusting his thumb first into one pocket, and then in the 
other. Mrs. Sniffles, like a good general, knew that delay 
would be dangerous, and while her husband was fumbling 
for a card, she ranged her three daughters in line of 
battle, and began the attack by introducing him first to 
Miss Mary Sniffles, the oldest, a blonde with gray, expres- 
sionless eyes, light hair, and a nose which turned up at 
the end. Next came Miss Gracey, a young lady of un- 
certain age, with hair more red than yellow, and eyes of 
a pale blue. Last was Dolly the youngest, she was plump, 
had a short round face and blue eyes, and her age might 
range any where from sixteen to twenty. The girls were 
all stouter than the mother, being fashioned more after 
their father. 

The mother still stood smiling on her array of 
daughters, when her husband found the card with their 
number. 


84 


CALAMITY BOW. 


“ Have you got the card, Isaias ? ” asked Mrs. Sniffles 
in her sharp, shrill voice. 

“ Ya-as, I’ve got the card,” he answered, holding it 
up to his wife, who took it eagerly, and handing it to 
Fred, continued : 

“ Now, Mr. Saunders, do come and see us. I do so 
much want to talk with some one from the West.” 

“ Ya-as, we want to talk with some one from the West,” 
said Mr. Sniffles. The youth assured the good people 
that it would be a pleasure to him. Mrs. Sniffles, de- 
termined to make his visit sure, asked him to fix a 
time. 

Fred, in his bewilderment, cast embarrassed looks at 
the three marriageable daughters. Miss Mary, with 
folded arms looked as bewitching as it "was possible for a 
plump little woman of twenty-eight to look. A faint 
flush suffused the cheeks of Miss Gracey, while the 
irrepressible Dolly giggled. Wednesday was agreed upon, 
and Mrs. Sniffles insisted on his calling early enough for 
dinner, — they dined at six, — and then, as if her work for 
the present was over, she filed out with her three marri- 
ageable daughters. 

Fred allowed his companions to go ahead of him. They 
had paused in the vestibule, w’here he overtook them. 
Tennessee, with an “ eye to fun,” touched him on the 
shoulder, saying: 

“Fred, which one o’ them red-headed gals are ye 
struck on ? ” 

“ Hush, you will be overheard,” Fred answered, blush- 
ing like a school-boy. The injunction was obeyed, and 
nothing more was said on the subject until they reached 
their room. 

Their amusement and Fred’s discomfiture would have 
been greatly increased had they heard the remarks of 


TENNESSEE IN CHURCH. 


85 


Mrs. Sniffles to her tranquillized husband. “He’s a fine 
young man, Isaias,” she said, as they reached the sitting- 
room. 

“ Ya-as, a fine young man,” echoed the rubicund Mr. 
Sniffles. 

“ From the West — the great boundless West,” con- 
tinued Mrs. Sniffles, in her sharp, shrill voice. “ May be 
lie’s a silver king, or the owner o’ millions in cattle — oh, 
he’s rich ! ” 

“Ya-as, he’s rich,” echoed Mr. Sniffles. 

“ And did you mark how he noticed Mary ? I’m sure 
it’s Mary this time.” 

“Ya-as, it’s Mary this time,” acquiesced Mr. Sniffles. 

That night our three students went back to the church. 
Had Horace and Fred dreamed of the shame Tennessee’s 
rudeness would bring on them, they would not have gone 
near the church. They found the same bald-headed usher 
to escort them to their pew. Horace and Tennessee 
were the last to enter one pew, which left the doctor 
from the Cumberlands sitting next to the aisle. There 
being no room for Fred in that pew, he occupied the one 
just behind them. Glancing around, he espied Mrs. 
Sniffles with her three daughters. The mother smiled 
and bowed, and then the three marriageable daughters 
bowed and smiled, and Mr. Sniffles, with an owl-like grin 
on his rubicund face, bobbed his head. 

Fred glanced at a distant pew, and he started. Some 
people were just entering it. In that congregation he 
had seen sparkling jewels and scintillating diamonds, 
but none so bright or beautiful as the blue eyes which 
met his. Allie Gray, the shop-girl from Calamity Row, 
was one of the persons entering the pew. The others 
were Mrs. Joyce, old Joe Ruggles the cobbler, and his 
worthy spouse. This small party had been induced by 


86 


CALAMITY BOW. 


the persuasions of Mr. Dempster to attend church. The 
congregation was thrown into a little flutter at the ap- 
pearance of strangers. The youth and beauty of Allie 
Gray attracted more attention than all the diamonds 
which flashed on the wealthiest belle. Her dress was 
very neat and simple, consisting of a delicate green tulle 
over satin, walking length, not very costly, and without 
ornaments, save plain gold bracelets. She wore a jaunty 
blue hat, with a white rose on the side. In her simple, 
neat attire, she was more beautiful than the banker’s 
daughter opposite her. For a moment all eyes were on 
the new-comer, and among others, Mrs. Sniffles’s. 

The shriveled chin of Mrs. Sniffles trembled with rage, 
when she saw the wealthy young man from the West 
casting sly glances at the shop-girl. Mr. Dempster had 
launched out into a discourse. The little flutter of ex- 
citement subsided. A few moments later, Fred who was 
giving more attention to Allie Gray than to the pulpit, 
saw a broad smile suddenly appear on a man’s face ; then 
another, another, and another. The choristers were either 
tittering or making w r ry faces, and he heard Miss Dolly 
giggle outright. He began to wonder what had excited 
the mirth of the audience. Mr. Sniffles was imitating 
his wife’s winks, nods, and gestures, and going through 
an astonishing pantomime. Fred came to the conclusion 
that the entire audience had lost their wits, when a 
smothered snort from Horace attracted his attention to 
the pew directly in front. 

It was a sight to appall the boldest. Tennessee had 
sunk down in his seat, until his head rested against the 
back of the pew. He was reclining in an easy position, 
one broad foot resting on the back of the pew before 
him, and elevated above his head, completely concealed 
his face from the minister. 


THE STAR AND THE CRESCENT. 87 

Fred was horrified, and, for a moment, knew not what 
to do. The eyes of the congregation were on his party. 
Horace, who only regarded Tennessee’s rudeness as a 
ludicrous joke, now whispered something in his ear which 
caused the rustic physician to remove his enormous foot 
from the top of the pew. 

“What in the world did you do that for?” Fred 
asked, when they were on their way home. 

“Do what?” asked Tennessee, with childlike sim- 
plicity. 

“ Put your foot on the back of the pew.” 

“ Oh, the preacher was callin’ fur soles, an’ I thought 
I’d throw one in sight,” was Tennessee’s laconic response. 
Horace roared, but Fred was too much shocked to join 
his merriment. The doctor, after a few moments’ silence, 
dryly said : “ I tell ye, boys, that was a mighty fine ser- 
mon, an’ I took it all in. I was restin’ mighty easy when 
ye told me to take my foot down.” 

Fred Saunders had almost made up his mind to cut 
the acquaintance of Tennessee, but when he remembered 
-what a kind heart he had, and how brave he was in 
Allie’s peril, he decided to forgive his rudeness. 


CHAPTER XII. 

THE STAR AND THE CRESCENT. 

The scene we now present to the reader is one scarce- 
ly known, save to the medical world. It is in that large 
room in the college building, where students, during the 
dark hours of the night, cut, dig and scrape away on 
lifeless bodies. Forty long, high tables are in the apart- 


88 CALAMITY LOW. 

ment, with aisles between. The floor is uncarpeted, and 
save a few high stools and the tables, has little other 
furniture. A row of columns up the centre of the room, 
act as a support to the roof. At this late hour of the 
night the room is almost deserted by the living. Only 
two or three gas jets have been left burning, which seem 
to increase the somberness of the opposite corners, where 
the columns disappear in the darkness. On entering, 
one meets the awful odors of the charnel-house. Each 
long, high table supports a dead body, in various stages 
of decomposition. Some are mangled and torn as if 
vultures had been at them, and others are almost fleshless 
skeletons, with only a few ragged muscles left clinging 
to the arms and legs. Vultures have been at these dead 
bodies, but they are the beneficent spoilers of science, 
and the scalpel and dissecting knife have taken the 
place of the talons and beak. Upon one table lies the 
body of a young and once handsome woman ; but, oh, 
how ghastly, how terrible in this state of decomposition ! 
The eyes are open and glassy, and the under jaw has 
fallen. The long hair — bright golden tresses, which at 
one time might have been the envy of a score of belles — 
hangs down in wild profusion over the end of the table. 
Those wavy tresses have an appearance of dampness 
about them. On the top of the head the hair is quite 
mouldy, and one can see that the body has been taken 
from the water. 

It is late, and the demonstrator and nearly all the 
students have quitted the college. Four ghoulish forms 
in gowns and caps, with scalpels in hand, are bending 
over a table next to that on which lies the young woman 
with long golden hair. All other bodies save this were 
covered ; yet from beneath the cloth peeps here and 
there a grinning face, a skeleton hand, a glistening 


the star and the crescent. 


80 


joint, or lacerated foot. The sight is enough to freeze a 
timid person’s blood. Among those ghoulish forms with 
glittering blades and pincers, cutting and pulling at the 
dead body before them, are our friends, Fred, Horace, 
and David C. Stonebeater. The fourth is a Doctor 
Morey, who, like Tennessee, has come to the college to 
review. Late as it is, they still continue their work. 
Tennessee is ready to deliver a discourse on the probable 
characters and past lives of the people whose bodies he 
assists to dissect. 

“ This ’un may have been a lawyer,” he says, tapping 
the cheek of the corpse before him. “ That ’un may 
have been a politician, and received bribes, and lied, and 
perjured himself ; but that gal lyin’ thar,” suddenly fixing 
bis eyes on the corpse we have described, while he 
whetted his scalpel, — “ that gal was once admired. She 
was purty, but wayward. When she was a leetle child, 
her parents indulged and sp’iled her. Her mother was 
anxious she should be a belle, and wanted her to marry 
above her station. Her people were pore, and unable to 
place her in the sassiety she wanted to enter. Then the 
mother keeps a pushin’ her forud. She meets the wild 
son of a rich man, and the mother, dependin’ too much 
on her gal’s beauty, runs the awful risk. The young gal 
is ruined, and goes from home, disgraced. Lower an’ 
lower she sinks, till she becomes one o’ the pore painted 
things we see walkin’ the streets at night. Life is hell to 
her, and she resolves to try the realities o’ another world, 
ruther than suffer the ‘slings an’ arrers o’ outrageous 
fortune.’ She makes the awful plunge, and brings up 
here, in the dissectin’ room.” 

“ Why, Tennessee,” said Horace, “ you make quite a 
philosopher. 

“ It’s not philosophy, it’s jest a bit o’ biography cut to 


90 


CALAMITY BOW. 


fit a hundred thousand cases, past, present, and to come,” 
said Tennessee, shaking his head ruefully. “It’s an 
old story, allers the same thing. A young woman starts 
on the road to ruin. It’s a straight road, broad gauge 
all the way. There’s no switches or stop-over stations. 
They never think to put on brakes though it’s down 
grade all the way, and most of ’em bring up here.” 

“ Bodies of respectable people occasionally find their 
way to the dissecting room, do they not ? ” F red asked. 

“Not often,” Tennessee answered. “Colleges don’t 
need ’em, as long as sich as these furnish ’em plenty.” 

“ Body snatching is not common now,” said Dr. Morey. 
“ Those who do not realize that the wages of sin is death, 
furnish us with abundant material. The time was when 
subjects were scarce, and students of anatomy hard put 
to find material. Then the rivers and harbors were 
dragged by body-snatchers, who instead of taking them 
to the morgue, kept them concealed until they could dis- 
pose of them to some college student.” 

“ When you began to study, doctor, was material so 
scarce ? ” asked Fred. 

“ Subjects were very scarce,” said Dr. Morey, stroking 
his grizzled beard with his left hand. 

“ I’ve always had scruples against body-snatching,” con- 
tinued Dr. Morey, leaning back and smoking his short 
pipe vigorously. “ I would not trample those scruples 
under foot for anything, unless it became an absolute 
necessity. I once came very near using a subject which 
I am satisfied was of respectable family, and which, if not 
snatched from the grave, was taken from the river. That 
girl there reminds me of the incident which happened so 
many years ago. It’s quite a story, boys ; and if it wasn’t 
so late, I would tell it.” 

“Has it anything to do with the dissectin’ room ? ” 
asked Tennessee. 


the star and the crescent. 


91 


“Well, yes.” 

“ Then it would be quite apropos / give it to us by all 
means ! ” put in Horace. 

“Yes, go on, Doc, an’ never mind the time,” continued 
Tennessee. 

The doctor crossed his legs, refilled and relit his pipe, 
and puffed away for a few moments in silence, while he 
passed his thumb gently over the edge of his dissecting 
knife, to test its sharpness. The dim light seemed only 
to reveal the hideousness of the scene. 

“The dissecting room,” began the doctor at last, “ is 
hardly the place for romance as we suppose all romance 
ends with life.” 

“ Don’t venture into the sea of metaphysics, doctor,” 
said Horace. “I am afraid we could not follow you.” 

“ All right ; I will launch out at once into my story. 
It is between fifteen and eighteen years since — I don’t 
remember the exact date, and it makes no difference so 
far as my story goes — I was a student in a medical 
college in this city. Sometimes students had to resort 
to those robbers of graves, and subjects for dissection 
have sold as high as fifty dollars apiece. When I at- 
tended my first term I was poor, and unable to afford 
many of the luxuries enjoyed by young men in the same 
college. There were three young men about my own 
age whose means were also limited. We had to purchase 
subjects, and not being connected with any hospital, and 
having rival colleges to contend with, this was not always 
possible. We four clubbed together and hired a grim- 
looking fellow with stubby beard, who haunted dead 
houses, rivers, and, I suspect, graveyards, for stiffs,* to 
bring us one. For awhile he was unsuccessful, and we 

* My excuse for using, this term is that it is widely known, and 
even though slang, it must be permissible in a doctor’s story. 


92 


CALAMITY ROW. 


had almost despaired, when one day he told us he had 
found a beautiful subject and would bring it to the college 
at dark. I accused the scoundrel of robbing a grave, but 
he assured me he had not, but admitted to having found 
the body floating in with the tide. This was not quite so 
bad. The scoundrel did not take it to the morgue as he 
should have done but hid it under a dock to bring to us. Al- 
though I felt some twinges of conscience, I compromised 
with my better feelings, and assured myself that it was 
some unfortunate who had sought peace and oblivion in 
the water. And surely we would keep her secret. What 
guards a secret like the dissecting room ? The grave is 
not half so good a place of concealment. 

“ Well, next evening, my friends, George Weathermore, 
Phil Mangett, Arthur Webb and myself repaired early 
to the dissecting room, to commence work. As we entered, 
I was shown the table on which our subject lay covered 
with a piece of canvas. I took up the cloth and laid 
it back revealing the body to the waist. It was a young 
woman, who had been drowned. Her body was disfig- 
ured by lying so long in the water, and yet the beauty 
was not wholly destroyed. The long golden ringlets 
were spread out over the table, the eyes were open and 
glassy. There was nothing sensual or wicked about that 
sweet face. Those seemed the refined features of a young 
and handsome lady. Some bark and trash from the 
drift-wood had settled in the golden hair, but the brow 
w r as of alabaster whiteness. The moment I saw that poor 
dead face, beautiful and sweet in its ghastliness, I swore 
that no scalpel should touch the body. Her death was 
not a suicide. She had not left this life to conceal a 
shame, or fly from evils brought on by her own wicked- 
ness. More probably she had lost her life by accident^ 
and kind friends had grown weary searching for her 


THE STAR AND THE CRESCENT. 


93 


body. I was not alone in my resolution. My three 
companions agreed with me. But I have not told you 
the most singular part of this strange story. As I raised 
one plump arm with my hand, I discovered a strange 
mark in India ink. It was the left arm as well as I 
remember ; there half-way between the shoulder and the 
elbow, was a perfect crescent with a star just between 
the points of concavity. By this mark the body could 
very easily have been identified. I urged on sending it 
to the dead-house, but our robber declared it would get 
us all into trouble, and finally won my companions over 
to his side. The body we clothed neatly, put it in a 
respectable coffin and buried it in the potter’s field.” 

Tennessee, who had been interested in the story from 
the beginning, was now trembling like an aspen. Unable 
longer to control himself he cried : 

“ Where was it buried — for God’s sake, where was it 
buried ? ” 

Iiis three companions were astounded. Recovering 
himself after a moment, Dr. Morey said : 

“ I don’t know the spot, I didn’t see her buried, but if 
I could only find the fellow who buried her, he could 
take us to the grave. It’s so many years since I saw him, 
that he may be dead himself.” 

“ Do you know anything about the mystery ? ” the 
amazed Horace asked. 

“ Oh, boys, don’t ax me — don’t ax me ! ” groaned the 
agitated Tennesseean. “ I won’t tell — oh, I can’t tell ; 
but I’d give a thousand dollars to know where that body 
is buried.” 


94 


CALAMITY BOW. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE VANDERBURG BALL. 

Mrs. Col. Vanderburg considered herself a leading 
member of society. It was fashionable for each society 
leader to give an annual ball, and as hers was announced 
for the first of the season, society was for weeks on the 
qui vive. Extravagant expectations were indulged ; for 
it was known that Mrs. Col. Vanderburg and her niece, 
Miss Adelaide, would not spare money in the forthcoming 
entertainment. It was just in the early winter, when 
society has waited, until patience is almost exhausted, 
for some event to quicken the sluggish blood. The 
watering places, which in turn have become a bore, are 
forgotten, and the fashionable mind reaches out after 
some new sensation. 

The poor health of Col. Vanderburg would not inter- 
fere with the ball; Mrs. Vanderburg declared that her 
duty to society prompted her to give the ball, even 
though her husband’s condition was critical. A thousand 
invitations were sent out. One of them was to Lord 
Soffellow, an English baron sixty years of age, who 
parted his hair in the middle, and could utter words as 
soft as his name. There was also Lady Snooze well, of the 
English nobility; what would a ball in Hew York be 
without some of the English nobility to leaven it? Even 
Mr. Van Orden’s friend, Mr. Harrison, on account of his 
rumored relationship to an earldom, and Mr. Van Orden, 
on the strength of his friendship with a supposed heir to 
an earldom, as well as his being of an old Knickerbocker 
family, were included among the guests. 


THE VANDERBURG BALL. 


95 


The evening was propitious for so grand an occasion. 
The air was cold, without bleak winds, but clear and 
delightful. It was the approach of early winter, colored 
with the lingering tints of autumn. The evening hor- 
izon was red long after the sun went down, and little 
patches of scarlet clouds gradually changed to an orange, 
and from that to a somber gray. To a person passing the 
Vanderburg mansion at nine o’clock on that eventful 
evening, there appeared no indication of the scene of un- 
equalled grandeur and gayety which was to appear a few 
hours later, save the long canopy which led from the 
curbstone to the vestibule doors. Not a window had yet 
been illuminated, nor a lamp lighted in the vestibule to 
drive away the gloom. Everything was as quiet about 
the grand mansion as if it had been carefully locked and 
its inmates retired for the night. A few minutes before 
ten o’clock, however, a light appears here and there 
through the heavily curtained windows, and as the foot- 
man opens the vestibule to prepare the canopy lamps, a 
flood of light bursts out from the doors, revealing the 
crimson carpeting on the steps, and instantaneously dis- 
pelling the gloom. The canopy lamps are lighted, and 
passers-by pause for a single moment to cast a glance into’ 
that brilliant earthly paradise which they dare not 
enter. 

Anon comes the measured tramp of heavy feet along 
the pavement. It is Capt. Dunce with a squad of police, 
detailed to patrol in front of the building, and guard 
those select people from the ruder masses of humanity. 
Not only police officers, but a squad of detectives were 
stationed about the premises, to see that no diamond pin 
or other ornament should be snatched from the person of 
some elegant guest. As the hour grows later there are 
indications of final preparations for the festivities. Lack- 


96 


CALAMITY ROW. 


eys are running hither and thither, there is great bustle 
and excitement, and finally Mr. Mullhead, the well-known 
director of all social events, takes his place at the curb- 
stone, and awaits the first carriage. 

While the director of ceremonies is awaiting the arrival 
of guests, we will attempt a brief description of the dec- 
orations for the occasion. The floral decorations were 
entrusted to one whose reputation, in that line, was 
national, and even his resources must have been heavily 
taxed. Four immense palms of a choice species stood 
in the main-hall, on either side of which were two 
rose bushes twenty-five feet in height, which together 
bore twenty-four hundred exquisite blossoms. Ivy 
wreathed the marble stairway, and clusters of leaves in- 
terspersed with bright flowers were arranged on the walls. 
Baskets of hyacinths, lilies of the valley, jonquils, and 
tulips weighted the air with their fragrance. Tall palms 
lined the walls, and even the vestibule was not neglected, 
for there stood palms and india rubber plants, though the 
main hall was converted into a blooming garden. In the 
doorways hung balls of roses ; ferns and palms stood in 
the large parlor, while the fireplace was massed with 
mignonette, hyacinths and roses. In the Japanese parlor, 
with its quaint bamboo furnishings, stood huge vases 
filled with roses, while the entire top of the curious cab- 
inet was a bed of many-hued chrysanthemums. The li- 
brary fireplace was hidden by a curtain of smilax, studded 
with roses, which reached the ceiling. The picture gal- 
lery was transformed into a ball-room, the spaces between 
the paintings being massed with flowers. At the entrance 
were two immense smilax-covered Japanese fans, on 
which were placed the favors for the german, dispersed 
by Miss Adelaide Vanderburg. 

At half-past ten the first carriage rolls up to the en- 


THE VANDERBURG BALL. 


ti 

trance, the guests alight and are ushered under the bril- 
liant awning uj) those crimson covered steps into the ves- 
tibule. Carriages now arrive rapidly, and the master of 
ceremonies is kept busily engaged. People throng each 
side of the canopy, along the line of which at intervals of 
a few feet are stationed policemen, who almost uselessly 
endeavor to keep back the gazers. The sidewalk across 
the street is also lined with people. Hundreds of poor 
hungry children are pushed back by the police for trying 
to get a glimpse of the grandeur through the open door. 
The expense of this one night’s festivity would have 
maintained them a year. A pale-faced girl, with a bundle 
under her arm, is coming down the sidewalk. There is a 
sadness in her large blue eyes as she comes in sight of 
the awnings and long line of carriages. 

It was Allie Gray, the shop-girl of Calamity Row. She 
decided to pass through the opening in the sides of the 
awning and get a glimpse of the grand scene within. The 
long line of gay coaches with drivers and footmen in liv- 
ery, the silver mountings and shining harness were 
indicative of what she might expect, could she get a 
glance through the door w r hich w T as barred against 
her. She noticed that the crowd grew more dense as she 
neared the canvas, and she caught glimpses of police 
uniforms here and there, and heard the angry commands 
to keep back. Though jostled about by the idlers, she 
made her way to the awning and started to pass through 
the side entrance. She paused for a single moment to 
catch a glimpse of that grandly illuminated vestibule 
through the doors, w r hich were ajar, not noticing the lady 
in costly attire and glittering diamonds, coming with her 
escort up the carpeted way. A policeman seeing that 
she was one of the common people, sprang forwmrd and 
roughly seizing her arm, said : 

7 


98 


CALAMITY ROW. 


“ Move on, move on ! ” 

Abashed and alarmed, Allie uttered a scream, and 
hurried through the crowd on the opposite side, tears of 
bitter humiliation trickling down her cheeks. To be 
driven away as if she were a thing to contaminate, was 
more than gentle-souled Allie could endure. What harm 
was there in her glancing into that brilliant vestibule of 
tinsel and gold ? What most touched her heart was the 
laugh on the lips of the fashionable lady, as the police- 
man pushed her on. 

Poor Allie, why weep at your ill treatment ? There is 
one golden gate, opening into a city of greater splendor 
than the Vanderburg mansion, which will not be closed 
against cheap appareb There are no police patroling in 
front, to admit diamonds, silks, seal-skins and satins, and 
to keep back calicoes, worsted, and linen ; for purity of 
heart is there considered, rather than costliness of appa- 
rel. 

The line of carriages now reaches far down the avenue. 
They drive up to the awning, and ladies, young, old and 
middle-aged, good-looking and homely, but all richly 
attired, with diamonds scintillating at their ears and 
throat, and fleecy wraps over their shoulders, trip along 
the carpeted pavements at the sides of their escorts. As 
each lady, with ornaments liberally displayed, passes the 
police, they force the onlookers back, as though to pre- 
vent some daring attempt at robbery, while on the out- 
skirts, the central office detectives are also on the alert 
for such an attempt. Meanwhile from the half-open case- 
ment, sweet strains of delicious music stole, and through 
the doorway the eager spectators saw what resembled a 
fairy-land. 

After the guests passed through the vestibule and 
main hall, which were lined with palms and other grow- 


the vanderburg ball. 


99 


ing plants, and had put aside wraps and overcoats, they 
were ushered into the drawing-room, where they were 
received by Mrs. Col. Vanderburg, who, owing to the 
illness of her husband, was assisted by Mr. Edward Dar- 
lington and Lady Snoozewell, her guest. In the drawing- 
room the scene was one never to be forgotten. The rich 
and various costumes of the ladies, relieved by the som- 
ber evening-dress of the gentlemen, all combined with the 
beautiful decorations of the room, formed a brilliant 
picture. 

Mrs. Col. Vanderburg received her guests in a cost- 
ume made expressly for the occasion. It was a marvelous 
combination of satin and brocade, made with train and 
square neck, and trimmed with point lace. Her orna- 
ments were diamonds, and consisted of necklace with 
pendant, ear-rings, bracelets, and pins, while a tiara of 
the same gems was worn in the coiffure , holding in place 
a duster of ostrich tips. Lady Snoozewell, Mis. Col. 
Vanderburg’s assistant in receiving, wore a green velvet, 
long train, apron front of yellow satin, elaborately em- 
broidered with silver, and low cut corsage. Her orna- 
ments were diamonds. Miss Adelaide, the niece of Col. 
Vanderburg, in whose honor the ball was given, was 
attired in white tulle over silk, trimmed with marabout 
feathers and white lilacs. The skirt was made with a 
long train and the corsage was decollete. She carried a 
bouquet of white lilacs. But why should I weary the 
reader with a description of gay costumes, or elaborate 
toilets ? Among the prominent guests not mentioned* 
were General Takeall and Mrs. Takeall. The general 
was a rubicund man, rather corpulent, with square jaws, 
and roan-colored whiskers. There was also present Judge 
Sheepshead, Colonel Pug, Capt. Swell, and Mr. and 
Mrs. Sneed. The most conspicuous persons present. 


JOG 


CALAMITY ROW. 


were Mr. Harry Van Orden and Sir Humphrey, as he 
called the cockney. These gentlemen, like many others, 
had their hair parted in the middle, wore an evening 
dress, which they had hired for the occasion, and each 
had an eyeglass to his eye and a bouquet in his hand. 

In the picture gallery, where dancing begun shortly 
before midnight, the spectacle rivaled all others. On the 
walls hung paintings by world-renowned artists, with 
panels of roses between them. The costumes of the ladies 
whirling in the mazes of the waltz, both in beauty, design, 
and richness of color, may be said to have fairly eclipsed 
the pictured fancies of those master painters. At twelve- 
thirty, supper was served in the dining-room, and the fa- 
mous Latundo might have felt proud of the full justice 
which was shown to his menu. At one-thirty, the cotil- 
lion was danced, being led by Miss Adelaide and Harry 
Van Orden, its favors including costly fans, and bouquets 
of rare flowers. Shortly after supper, a number of guests 
who did not wish to stay for the german, took their de- 
parture. Sir Humphrey Harrison and Mr. Van Orden 
remained. Hone of those gay, fashionable people present 
had any idea that these fastidious gentlemen were in- 
mates of Mrs. Billington’s boarding-house. They might 
own brown stone mansions on Fifth Avenue for all any 
one knew. Mr. Van Orden had an air of wealth and 
refinement about him which suited his purpose. 

“You are charming this evening,” said Miss Adelaide 
to Mr. Van Orden, with the free and easy manner char- 
acteristic of our American girl, as they concluded a 
quadrille. 

“ By the way, Mr. Van Orden, you have not taken me 
to this English nobleman yet, I merely met him in the 
reception room, and would like a better acquaintance 
with him. Is he an earl ? ” 


THE VANDERBU11Q BALL. 


101 


“Yes, — or will be as soon as his uncle dies. That 
won’t be very long, for the old man has consumption, 
heart disease, and gout. Sir Humphrey is as good as an 
earl now, you see. He’s a fine fellow is Sir Humphrey 
Harrison, and will some day be one of the proudest 
nobles in England. Would you like to talk with him?” 

“ Oh, so much.” 

“ Take my arm, and we will go over where he is. The 
earl is very quiet, you know, ah, — and just now is quite 
to himself.” 

The cockney was standing at the opposite side of the 
room, an eyeglass to his eye, taking in this scene of 
grandeur, and muttering: 

“ W’at bores these Hamericans are. This is a stupid 
affair. Nothing like we ’ave in Hengland.” 

“Sir Humphrey,” said Mr. Yan Orden, with a gracious 
bow, “ allow me to introduce you to Miss Adelaide Yan- 
derburg, the niece and heiress of our millionaire friend, 
Col. Robert Yanderburg.” 

With the cool indifferent air of an English noble, the 
cockney turned and bowed stiffly to Miss Yanderburg. 
“ ’Oping she .was well and henjoying the hevening.” 
Miss Yanderburg was very well, and enjoying the even- 
ing very much. She was solicitous concerning Sir 
Humphrey Harrison. She feared he might be bored, as 
noblemen are apt to be, with balls among the plebeians. 
Sir Humphrey looked very much like one who was 
bored. So earnest was she in her attentions to Sir Humph- 
rey, that for the time being she forgot her betrothed. 
She waltzed with Sir Humphrey, who, had he not been an 
heir to an earldom, would have been an indifferent dancer. 
But nobility covers a multitude of imperfections. Lord 
Soffellow, who was in attendance at the ball, was too old 
to make an agreeable companion for a dashing young 


102 


CALAMITY HOW. 


belle like Miss Vanderburg. He had retired early in the 
evening on account of a slight indisposition, and the fact 
that, like Sir Humphrey, he found these Americans a bore. 
It was soon whispered about that an heir to an earldom 
was present, and many sought an introduction to the 
cockney. Harrison received the homage of these people 
with the outward indifference of a real nobleman. Miss 
Vanderburg hung on his arm and was exceedingly atten- 
tive to his wants.' They retired to the green embowered 
bay window, adorned with roses and rare exotics, which 
burdened the air with their perfumes. There they sat 
down apart from the noisy, chattering throng, and she 
listened to him butchering the Queen’s English. Mr. 
Ed. Darlington noticed the attention his affianced be- 
stowed on the pretended earl, and with a contemptuous 
smile, said to himself : 

“ Poor fool. Go on — make yourself as silly as you 
like with that soft-headed Englishman. I will control 
your money when w r e are married, and I care not who 
controls you.” 

Mr. Van Orden had some of the qualifications of a 
society man. He could dance w r ell, talk a great deal of 
nonsense, which is indispensable to a society man. 
He could giggle and titter at the slightest provocation, 
and he became a favorite. Mr. Van Orden danced again 
and again with the handsomest and most richly attired 
ladies in the room, leaving Miss Vanderburg to his friend, 
the pretended earl. 

“Oh, Mr. Van Orden,” said Miss Takeall at the con- 
clusion of a waltz, when he was leading her, all flushed, 
to a seat, “how strange your friend, the earl, is. He 
seems indifferent to us all.” 

“ He is, Miss Takeall. You should know that English 
noblemen are so accustomed to regarding all who have 


THE VAN HERB URG BALL . 


103 


not titles, as beneath them, that it is quite a condescen- 
sion on their part to mingle with us at all.” 

General Takeall, the father of the young lady who 
was engaging the attention of Mr. Van Orden, was anx- 
ious for an introduction to Sir Humphrey Harrison, heir 
expectant to an earldom. The general sought out Sir 
Humphrey in his quiet, insinuating way, which had al- 
ways insured him success. The general w r as a man of 
few words, but he managed to have things happen just 
as he wanted them. By some means he managed to 
place himself in front of the earl and engage him in con- 
versation for the few moments during which Miss Van- 
derburg was away from the spurious nobleman’s side. 
The general talked of “ hosses,” dogs, and field sports, 
in a way which he thought amusing to an earl ; but Sir 
Humphrey excused himself as soon as possible, and when 
alone, said : 

What an ’orrible bore that Hamerican general is.” 

Sir Humphrey and Mr Van Orden were among the 
last guests to take their departure, which they did just 
as the gray dawn began breaking over East River, tinge- 
ing the dark clouds with an olive color, which turned to 
a border of gold. These society gentlemen, as they 
rolled away in their hired carriage, were too much 
exhausted to pay any heed to the beauties of early dawn. 
They were pleased with the favorable impression they 
had made on the fashionable world. Little did those gay 
people at the Vanderburg ball dream that Sir Humphrey 
occupied rooms at Mrs. Billington’s cheap boarding- 
house, and that neither the earl nor Van Orden could at 
that moment have commanded a hundred dollars. 



104 


CAL. AMII Y ROW. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

AT THE OPERA. 

Adelaide Vanderburg was pretty. Edward Darling- 
ton had a certain amount of admiration for her, but he was 
too much a man of the world, to give his heart entirely 
to any one. Miss Adelaide was a handsome belle, and 
he felt an admiration for her which was as near as he 
could approach to love. His selfish desire to possess 
wealth made him equally desirous of possessing beauty, 
and as Adelaide Vanderburg had both wealth and 
beauty, she was his choice. But Mr. Darlington had 
determined to marry, more as a matter of business than 
happiness. He had formed this resolution before meeting 
Miss Vanderburg, and if Miss Adelaide had been homely 
and old he might have proposed to her just the same. 
Yet, indifferent as he was to his betrothed, he felt within 
him some pangs of jealousy, when he noted the close 
attention paid to Miss Adelaide by the supposed Sir 
Humphrey Harrison. 

“ Confound that Englishman, I would like to pull his 
nose for him,” growled Edward Darlington, as lie 
reclined in his easy carriage on his w T ay homeward. 

“He is too attentive to Adelaide. I wonder where 
she met him. Sir Humphrey Harrison, an heir to an 
earldom. Well, I never heard of the man until to-night. 
I suppose, like most English nobles coming to America, 
he is on the search for a rich w r ife, to improve his 
impoverished estate ; if he has an estate.” 

The idea of having so powerful a rival as an English 
earl, bred no pleasant thoughts. The possibility of 


AT THE OP EE A. 


105 


rivalry made this ambitious scion of speculation doubly 
anxious to succeed. True, he and Adelaide were en- 
gaged, but then, what was a simple engagement? 
Other girls had broken their troth-plight, and might not 
she ? She was fickle enough to do it, would there be a 
prospect of capturing the English nobleman. Had Ed. 
Darlington known what a fraud the pretended earl was, 
he would have laughed, and allowed him to go on making a 
fool of Adelaide, taking his own time to bring about the 
exposure ; but the imposture was complete, so far as he 
was concerned. No person less audacious than Harry 
Van Orden could have planned so bold a fraud, and 
no one less impudent than the cockney would have 
dared to carry it out. 

Mr. Darlington reached his mansion, and instead of 
going to bed, went to his study and rang for wine. 
After drinking he threw himself on a sofa and slept until 
twelve, when he rose and breakfasted ; then ordering his 
coach, was driven to the Exchange. . The ordinary ex- 
citement prevailed. The bears and bulls were struggling 
for the mastery. Transcontinental was thrown on the 
market and Darlington bought quite liberally. It began 
to rise and he bought more until, just before the gavel 
came down, he purchased Transcontinental indiscrim- 
inately, not to say recklessly. 

“ I’ll make half a million to-day,” he said, as he was 
driven away in his carriage. He felt confused and giddy, 
but attributed the feeling to the day’s excitement and 
rush of business. He stopped on his way to his club, at 
a saloon, and strengthened his nerves with a glass of old 
rye whiskey. 

He went home late that evening, his head rather diz- 
zier than usual on account of the stimulants he had 
taken, The next day he was in the Exchange, but rather 


106 


CALAMITY ROW. 


shy of Transcontinental. The stock was on a stand that 
day, but he was not discouraged. He did not go to his 
club that afternoon, but after an early dinner decided to 
visit his betrothed, Miss Adelaide, and induce her to go 
with him to the opera. If Darlington felt a pang of jeal- 
ousy he was too shrewd to show it, and was as affable as 
his nature would permit. He found Miss Vanderburg 
sufficiently recovered from the fatigue of the ball to spend 
an evening at the opera. 

“Are you acquainted with Sir Humphrey Harrison, 
Mr. Darlington ? ” she asked, after arrangements had 
been made for the opera. 

“ Ho,” Ed answered curtly, not caring to discuss the 
Englishman. 

“ Oh, he is charming ! He is the most entertaining 
man I ever met ! ” 

“ I am glad you found him charming, my dear, since 
he was so persistent in his attentions to you,” said Dar- 
lington in his dangerously pleasant way. “ He so nearly 
resembles a British cockney that I feared you would be 
bored.” 

“ Oh, Mr. Darlington, you are jealous,” said the spoiled 
beauty, pouting. “ Your wit is out of place.” 

Ed Darlington was penitent, and asked her forgiveness 
in the pretty way a lover should ; she, like a magnani- 
mous creature, forgave him, and then they were happier 
for their little spat. Mrs. Col. Vanderburg, came in, 
pretending not to know that he was in the parlor, and 
gave a little start on seeing the lovers. She was about 
to retire, but they pressed her to remain and accompany 
them to the Academy of Music that night, where a world- 
renowned singer was to hold an audience spellbound with 
her sweet, magical voice. Mr. Darlington made a short 
visit to Col. Vanderburg’s room to inform him that 


AT THE OPERA. 


107 


Transcontinental stock was rising, and left to attend to 
some other matters before the hour for the opera. 

As they sat in their box that evening, Adelaide sud- 
denly grasped Darlington’s arm and said : 

“ Oh, Mr. Darlington! there is the earl and Mr. Van 
Orden” 

She had been sweeping the boxes with her opera-glass 
as if she was searching for some familiar figure, and then 
turned it on the parquet. There, sitting several seats 
back, were the two boarders from Mrs. Billington’s, in 
the best seats their limited means could afford. They 
wore the genteel evening dress which certain aristocrats 
can always afford, even at the expense of their board 
bills. They had seen Miss Adelaide, but hoped to re- 
main unobserved. 

“ It’s all up,” thought Van Orden, “ we can carry our 
game no further.” 

But Miss Vanderburg at once framed an excuse for 
them. “ They were too late to secure a box, Mr. Dar- 
lington,” she said. “Oo and bring them in our box; or 
rather, call an usher.” She quickly produced a small 
gold-handled pencil and wrote a note on the blank side of 
her programme, while Ed Darlington, wishing the cock- 
ney and Van Orden in the bottom of the sea, beckoned 
an usher to him. Miss Adelaide pointed out the two 
men in the parquet, told him their names, and sent the 
written invitation for them to come and share their box. 
Of course they accepted the invitation. 

“I saw you,” she said gayly as they entered, “and I 
at once knew you had been too late to secure a box. Am 
I not correct ? ” Of course she was correct, Van Orden 
declared, while the cockney was cudgeling his brain for 
some plan of extrication from this dilemma. “I knew 
that was you in the parquet,” continued the sprightly 


108 


CALAMITY BOW. 


beauty. “ It would have been serving you right to have 
let you remain there, as a punishment for your tardiness. 
You must remember that delays are dangerous.” 

“Oh, Miss Vanderburg, oh!” said Mr. Van Orden 
drawing a delicately perfumed handkerchief across his 
nose. “You — ah — would not be so cruel to us as that 
now, would you ?” 

“ Oh, that was ’orrible ! ” said Sir Humphrey with an 
air of disgust. 

Miss Vanderburg had the earl seated on her right and 
Mr. Van Orden on her left and soon engaged them in 
such a sprightly conversation that they were quite at 
their ease, Mr. Darlington was quite forgotten, and sat 
back by the side of Mrs. Vanderburg, looking rather 
dark and biting his lips in vexation. Miss Adelaide 
soon became the centre of attraction, and numberless 
opera-glasses were turned upon her. Her white satin 
dress, elaborately embroidered with floss and silver de- 
signs of violet, was cut low in the neck, revealing a lovely 
throat and bust. Her head-dress consisted of her abundant 
hair with a diamond brooch that held in place a bunch of 
ostrich tips. Every time she moved a shower of golden 
sparks was emitted from her brilliant ornaments. Her 
indignant lover thought he never saw her so beautiful, as 
she sat, the centre of attraction, conversing with that 
admirable English nobleman. 

There were others of our acquaintances at the opera. 
Fred Saunders had been induced by his rustic friend 
Tennessee to attend. He objected at first. The prima 
donna would sing in Italian, and he would not understand 
her. He said he thought people went more because it 
was fashionable than from any real enjoyment. 

“ I don’t know what other people go fur,” said Tennes- 
see, “ I’m goin’ to hear that woman sing. It’s the music 


AT THE OPERA. 109 

o* her voice I want, and not what she sings. I hev allers 
wanted to hear one o’ them prima donnas, and I guess 
this is my only chance, fur I’ll never come to New York 
agin’, and they’re not goin’ to bring ’er down to Tennes- 
see, to sing fur my special benefit.” 

Tennessee had been gloomy and downcast since the 
evening on which Dr. Morey had told his story in the 
dissecting-room. Fred agreed to accompany him, to re- 
vive the drooping spirits of his friend. Could he restore 
Tennessee to his former self, he was willing to lose an 
evening from his studies, and be bored by a song in a 
foreign tongue. Horace, with some other students, was 
going to hear Joe Jefferson, in Rip Yan Winkle, so 
Fred and Tennessee went alone. 

When they arrived at the Academy of Music, they 
found the seats all sold. “I reckin we kin go up in the 
gallery and stand up,” said Tennessee, wfith a smile. Fred 
followed him up the broad stairway leading to the top 
gallery usually a resort for newsboys and working-people ; 
but on this night it was filled with ladies and gentlemen 
of economic tastes, or moderate means. 

The lights were down low around the stage, and there 
was a sort of gray twilight within the orchestra rail, deep- 
ening in the far-away corner almost to darkness. From out 
the somber gloom could be seen the end of a drum, a bass 
viol, and music stands, on which were broadsheets of will 
thumbed music. A singular hush seemed to have fallen 
over the audience, broken only by the subdued rustle of 
persons entering and seating. A few moments later this 
is changed by the entrance of boys with opera books for 
sale, going up and down, and deafening people with cries 
of their wares. Tennessee and Fred secured good stand- 
ing-room, and waited. A few minutes before time for the 
curtain to rise, the foot-lights flashed up, and the orches- 


110 


Calamity now. 


tra came out from the little door under the stage, all but 
the drummers and double basses carrying their instru- 
ments under their arms. A few minutes were spent in 
tuning the stringed instruments. Then the bald-headed 
leader took his place on a high stool, and waving his 
violin bow for a baton, signaled the opening by an ener- 
getic downward spreading sweep of the arms. Trumpets 
brayed, cymbals crashed, and drums rolled. Sometimes 
raging, roaring, then softly floating away in delicious 
strains, delightful to our rustic doctor from the Cum- 
berlands. 

The bell rang, the curtain rose, revealing an elegant 
drawing-room. There was a short solo by the world- 
renowned singer, incomprehensible to nine-tenths of that 
great audience, which was followed by a chorus from a 
hundred throats, incomprehensible to all. The members 
of the orchestra seemed to be working as if their lives 
depended on their being heard. When the uproar was 
at its greatest, the little black-eyed prima donna sudden- 
ly came down to the foot-lights, and high above all, her 
own voice rose, sweet and clear. The chorus of a hun- 
dred voices, aided by a powerful orchestra, followed the 
notes of this sweet singer. Fred found himself applaud- 
ing with the others. Though he could not understand a 
word of the song, he felt its power. 

“ I tell ye she kin sing,” said Tennessee to a stranger 
standing near him. 

“Yes, sir, the world has declared her good,” was the 
answer. 

“ She’s the best on earth,” declared Tennessee. “ I 
wouldn’t ’a missed hearin’ that up’ard flight fur the best 
hoss I’ve got. She’s fine as silk.” 

The stranger smiled and raised his opera-glass. Neither 
Fred nor Tennessee had a glass. The Southerner 


AT THE OP EE A. 


Ill 


had never used one in his life, though he had read of 
such things. With his characteristic crudeness, he 
touched the stranger on the shoulder, and said : 

“ Say, feller, let me hev that thing a miunit?” 

The gentleman handed it to him. Tennessee swept 
first the stage, then turned the glass on the boxes. At 
last he alighted on the very box in which Adelaide Van- 
derburg, with the pretended earl and Mr. Van Orden, 
sat. 

“ Say, feller,” said Tennessee, nudging his new acquaint- 
ance in the side, “ ain’t that gal over yonder got lots o’ 
diamonds?” 

“Yes,” answered the stranger. 

“ Them’s reg’lar shiners, ain’t they ? ” 

“ Of course they are ; she would wear no other.” 

Miss Vanderburg was well known among the fashionable 
people at the opera, and was almost as much observed as 
the prirna donna. Her vivacity sparkled from the box as 
brilliantly as her diamonds. A moment she toyed with 
her elegant fan, then lifted her richly jeweled opera-glass 
to look at some envious rival in an opposite box. Ten- 
nessee fixed his glass a long time on the vivacious beauty, 
aud turned it to her companions. Then taking it from 
his eyes, he said : 

“ Fred, Fred, come here ! ” Fred who was only a short 
distance away, came to his side. “ I say, Fred, d’ye see 
that gal with them diamonds ?” 

“Yes — I see her.” 

“ D’ye see them two fellers on each side o’ her ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ They’re our dude and that Britisher.” 

“What, Van Orden and Harrison?” 

“Yes — take the glass and see fur yerself.” Fred 
could hardly believe his own eyes, but the opera-glass 


114 


CALAMITY HOW. 


central hatchway, which was now converted into a dock- 
rats’ dwelling. If the owners ever used the boat at all it 
was only to carry goods across from sloops and lighters. 
Boards had been battened down on the forward deck, 
forming a complete gangway. 

A line rain was falling on the upper deck of the boat 
and running off in small rills into the river. The man 
slid down the soft muddy bank, dropping on the deck of 
the old barge, and pausing for the last time to take a 
cautious glance about him. Not a soul was in sight, and 
only the jittering rain and washing sea could be heard. 
Tall masts loomed up on the river, bobbing and nodding 
in the darkness, and the lights from the 6treet lamps 
shone dimly through the fog and rain. The man whom 
we have followed crossed the deck, and rapped cau- 
tiously on the cabin door. 

“Who is there?” demanded a voice from within. 

“ It is I, Andrew Duno,” was the answer in a solemn 
whisper. 

Had Duno and his companions within been conspir- 
ators, having the destruction of the country at heart, they 
could not have used more caution. Some one within 
seemed shuffling about for a moment, and then the nar- 
row low door opened, and a dark sinister face with bushy 
hair and beard appeared. 

“ Of course ye come alone, Duno ? ” said the deep husky 
voice, in a tone but little above a whisper. 

“Yes, d’ye think I’d bring any one with me, when you 
said not,” he answered, entering the cabin. There was 
little furniture in the apartment, a plain deal-board table 
on which was a lighted candle, two or three chairs and 
a stool, with a rough bed and box, comprised it all. A 
small stove was at the end of the room in which a fire 
blazed and roared. Seated in front of the stove was a 


BURKE'S GOLDEN LAY. 


115 


third man, as villainous looking as the other two, smoking 
a short pipe. 

“ Pyke is with you ? ” said Duno. 

“ Yes, we both live here now,” Burke answered,. “ and 
we git along very well.” After casting a few glances 
about the deck, Burke closed the door. The apartment, 
or cabin, as it was called, was small, the ceiling low, and 
the whole dirty and dingy. Small as it was, the solitary 
candle but illy lighted it. Down through a leak in the 
centre of the roof the water was falling pat-a-pat-pat. An 
old tin pan had been placed so as to catch it. An artist 
wishing characters to represent nihilists and conspir- 
ators, could not have found better than these. 

“Set down,” said Burke, gruffly. “Ye needn’t be 
afraid. We’re doin’ nothin’ here that’ll either stretch yer 
neck, or send ye t’ the Island.” 

Duno, thus assured, sat down upon a stool close to the 
table. Burke took a seat opposite him. Placing his 
elbows on the table and his chin in his hands, he looked 
Andy in the face. Duno was unable to meet his gaze 
and his eyes drooped. 

“ I came here to see you. What do you want with 
me ? ” 

“ Oh yes, we did send fur ye,” said Burke, the broad 
grin fading from his face and the lines growing hard. 
“ Facts are, we’re on a golden lay. We’ve struck a 
bonanza.” 

“What is it?” asked Duno, humbly. “Surely ye 
wouldn’t mind takin’ a poor laborin’ man in, who is out 
of employment, and wants to get across the river — ” 

“ Ha, ha, ha ! ” roared Burke, breaking in with a ring- 
ing laugh that quite startled Duno. His nerves seemed 
shattered, and he looked about anxiously for some place 
to conceal himself. “ You’ve got it by heart and ye can’t 
let go when ye want to.” 


114 


CALAMITY HOW. 


central hatchway, which was now converted into a dock- 
rats’ dwelling. If the owners ever used the boat at all it 
was only to carry goods across from sloops and lighters. 
Boards had been battened down on the forward deck, 
forming a complete gangway. 

A fine rain was falling on the upper deck of the boat 
and running off in small rills into the river. The man 
slid down the soft muddy bank, dropping on the deck of 
the old barge, and pausing for the last time to take a 
cautious glance about him. Not a soul was in sight, and 
only the pattering rain and washing sea could be heard. 
Tall masts loomed up on the river, bobbing and nodding 
in the darkness, and the lights from the street lamps 
shone dimly through the fog and rain. The man whom 
we have followed crossed the deck, and rapped cau- 
tiously on the cabin door. 

“Who is there? ” demanded a voice from within. 

“ It is I, Andrew Duno,” was the answer in a solemn 
whisper. 

Had Duno and his companions within been conspir- 
ators, having the destruction of the country at heart, they 
could not have used more caution. Some one within 
seemed shuffling about for a moment, and then the nar- 
row low door opened, and a dark sinister face with bushy 
hair and beard appeared. 

“ Of course ye come alone, Duno ? ” said the deep husky 
voice, in a tone but little above a whisper. 

“Yes, d’ye think I’d bring any one with me, when you 
said not,” he answered, entering the cabin. There was 
little furniture in the apartment, a plain deal-board table 
on which was a lighted candle, two or three chairs and 
a stool, with a rough bed and box, comprised it all. A 
small stove was at the end of the room in which a fire 
blazed and roared. Seated in front of the stove was a 


BURKE'S GOLDEN LAY. 


115 


third man, as villainous looking as the other two, smoking 
a short pipe. 

“ Pyke is with you ? ” said Duno. 

“ Yes, w T e both live here now,” Burke answered,. “ and 
we git along very well.” After casting a few glances 
about the deck, Burke closed the door. The apartment, 
or cabin, as it was called, was small, the ceiling low, and 
the whole dirty and dingy. Small as it was, the solitary 
candle but illy lighted it. Down through a leak in the 
centre of the roof the water was falling pat-a-pat-pat. An 
old tin pan had been placed so as to catch it. An artist 
wishing characters to represent nihilists and conspir- 
ators, could not have found better than these. 

“ Set down,” said Burke, gruffly. “ Ye needn’t be 
afraid. We’re doin’ nothin’ here that’ll either stretch yer 
neck, or send ye t’ the Island.” 

Duno, thus assured, sat down upon a stool close to the 
table. Burke took a seat opposite him. Placing his 
elbows on the table and his chin in his hands, he looked 
Andy in the face. Duno was unable to meet his gaze 
and his eyes drooped. 

“ I came here to see you. What do you want with 
me?” 

“ Oh yes, we did send fur ye,” said Burke, the broad 
grin fading from his face and the lines growing hard. 
“ Facts are, we’re on a golden lay. We’ve struck a 
bonanza.” 

“What is it?” asked Duno, humbly. “Surely ye 
wouldn’t mind takin’ a poor laborin’ man in, who is out 
of employment, and wants to get across the river — ” 

“ Ila, ha, ha ! ” roared Burke, breaking in with a ring- 
ing laugh that quite startled Duno. llis nerves seemed 
shattered, and he looked about anxiously for some place 
to conceal himself. “ You’ve got it by heart and ye can’t 
let go when ye want to.” 


116 


CALAMITY HOW. 


“Well,” said Duno, trying to look bis bolder com- 
panion in the face, but failing. “ If you don’t care to share, 
I can go.” He arose as if about to leave the boat. 

“ Set down and hear me through,” said Burke. “ Don’t 
go to gittin’ in such haste until ye know what ye’re doin’. 
Pyke and me are on a golden lay.” 

“You ain’t — ain’t — ” he seemed to lack courage to con- 
clude his sentence. 

“Ain’t what? can’t you speak?” Pyke now turned 
around, so as to face the two men at the table. 

“I didn’t mean no harm, Burke,” said Duno, with pro- 
fessional meekness. He tried hard to fix his eyes on the 
man before him, but he broke down and his voice died 
away. 

“ Can’t ye speak? now whatever ye was goin’ to say — 
say it,” growled Burke, growing somewhat savage. 

Duno shrugged his shoulders for a moment, glanced 
nervously about, hesitating between desire to profit by 
the “ golden lay,” and fear that something perilous would 
be required of him. 

“I was going to say,” he continued, “that I hoped 
there was nothing in which there would be any danger 
from the police, you know.” 

“ Ha, ha, ha, I thought ye’d be ticklish on that pint. 
Well no, I reckin not; is there, Pyke?” asked Burke. 
Pyke who continued to smoke his short black pipe, with 
his eyes on the stove, stopped to growl : 

“ Ho.” 

“ How look at Pyke,” said Burke vrith an air of ad- 
miration, pointing to his companion, “ Does he look like 
a bad un ? D’ye think he ever done anything in his life to 
make ’im dread the fly cops? Ho, not much. Pyke’s my 
pardner an’ we do a square business.” 

“ Well, it’s safe, is it ? ” asked Duno. 


BURKE'S GOLDEN LAY. 


117 


“ Safe ? why, you coward, course it is. Safe as any- 
thing. Nothin’s safe these days,” growled Burke savagely. 
“ Ye tenderfoot — ye ought to be keptatween two feather- 
beds in a glass house where ye couldn’t git hurt. I’m not 
goin’ to send myself to the Tombs, the Island, or git 
stretched ’f I know myself. D’ye think Pyke an’ me are 
fools? well, not much, if we know ourselves. But we’ve 
got a good thing. There’s big money in’t for some one, 
an’ no un but we uns can get it. We’re the only uns as 
jest knows where the handle is, and how to put our hands 
on it.” 

“ What is it ? ” 

u Well, I don’t keer to make it known ’nless ye’ll jine 
us, an’ help out with it.” 

“ I’ll help if it’s safe — perfectly safe,” said Duno. 

“ I tell ye ’tis.” 

“Then w r hat is it? — I’ll help.” 

For a moment Burke sat in silence and cast glances at 
his companion Pyke, who nodded his head in assent to 
whatever Burke might say or do. Duno sat with his eyes 
on the floor. Both knew him to be selfish and treacherous. 
He would betray their secret at any moment, providing 
he could make something by doing so. 

“ You must promise to go in with us first, Duno,” said 
Burke, sternly. 

“I will.” 

?! Burke rose to his feet and went to a sort of an old cup- 
board from which he took a dark, square-looking object 
to the table. It was a book, and Duno saw gilt letters 
on the back making the words “ Holy Bible.” It was a 
strange place for a Bible. Placing the book on the table, 
Burke said : 

“ You know what this is ? ” 

“ Yes — it’s a Bible.” 


118 


CALAMITY HOW. 


“ Put yer hand on it,” commanded Burke, in a voice of 
sternness. Trembling in every limb Duno did as re- 
quired. “ISTow yer hand is on it,” said Burke, “and ye 
know if ye lie with yer hand on it, ye’ll go to that place 
where they don’t shovel snow. Whatever ye say or 
]>romise is an oath, an’ if ye break it somethin’ awful will 
happen. Do ye promise not to tell anything ye may 
learn here to-night?” 

Duno, trembling in every limb, promised to reveal 
nothing. 

“ Swear never to hint it, nod it, write it or wink it, 
anyway, sleepin’ or wakin,’ sick or well, dead or livin’, 
D’ye swear it ? ” 

“I swear I will tell nothin’ in no way and do just as 
you say,” answered Duno, filled with awe and terror. A 
few moments’ silence followed the singular administration 
of the oath. Then Burke spoke : 

“ I told ye we had a golden lay, and ye’ll say so when 
ye come to know what it is, you’re able to read writin’ 
and make figgers, which is more’n me or Pyke kin do.” 
lie rose and went to a sort of hatchway or trap-door lead- 
ing down into the hold of the boat, which he raised. Duno 
watched him carefully, as if expecting some monster or 
treasure would be dragged from out that dark hole. Pyke 
sat smoking his short black pipe, indifferent to surround- 
ing objects or passing events. Burke descended and re- 
appeared after a few seconds. He was dragging some- 
thing with one hand ; was it the corpse of a murdered 
victim about whom there was a vast treasure, or was it 
the treasure itself ? Duno felt cold chills of horror pass 
over his frame. When Burke had climbed the small lad- 
der dragging his burden after him, Duno looked. It 
was an old bag with some bulky object in it. Horror 
at once gave place to curiosity. It was too small to be 


BURKE’# GOLDEN LAY. 


110 


a murdered man. It was treasure — heaps of gold and 
diamonds, the ill-gotten gains of some plundering expe- 
dition. As Burke dragged the bag along the floor, he 
fancied he heard the chink of coin. Burke set the bag 
down heavily at the side of the table, and thrusting his 
* hands into it drew forth — not gold or diamonds, but a 
ponderous, musty-looking book. It was an immense 
quarto volume, and looked like a counting-house ledger ; 
but was soiled and rotted until the leathern back was al- 
most off, and the leaves were in many places partly or en- 
tirely gone. It had evidently lain for years under w ater, 
and was worn and rotted into an unrecognizable mass of 
soiled paper. 

“ What is that *? ” Duno asked in surprise. 

“ That’s jest what we want you to tell, ye swore to 
help us out wi’ this and keep our secret ; we think we 
know what it is, but, not bein’ able to read, we’re not cer- 
tain. We guess it’s the book o’ that defaultin’ banker 
*■ who failed a few years ago, ye know, and throwed the 
books in the river. They’ve offered fifty thousand dol- 
lars fur them books, fur I’ve heerd it read out o’ the news- 
papers. Me and Pyke fished’em up out o’ the river when 
we were fishin’.” One or two other books looking very 
much like soiled ledgers were also brought out of the bag. 

“ Where did you say you got ’em ? ” Duno asked. 

u Fished ’em out o the river.” 

“When?” 

“ Not over two months ago.” 

Duno, the only one of the two who could read proceed- 
ed to examine the books. He opened the largest, but a 
glance was sufficient to convince him that the writing 
had so faded from the pages as to be illegible. “ I kin 
fix that,” said Burke, taking from his pocket a bottle of 
chemicals and a small brush. “Jest put a little o’ this on, 


120 


CALAMITY HOW. 


and it’ll bring ’em all out again, leastways the drug clerk 
who sold me this stuff said it would.” 

Du no dipped the brush into the mixture and deftly 
applied it to the yellow soiled pages. The effect was 
wonderful. On those yellow pages large dark letters be- 
gan to appear. He had anointed the top of the page, 
and large bold headlines stood out before him. He read 
them and turning to Burke said : 

“ These ain’t no bank books.” 

“ They ain’t ? ” 

“No they are the books o’ the ship, th« Ocean Star 

“ Ocean Star be damned ! ” cried Burke, in great dis- 
appointment and vexation, “ That’s the ship which was 
run into while enterin’ the harbor sixteen or seventeen 
years ago, and went down in a fog.” Pyke even seemed 
to have lost his serenity under the disappointment. He 
rose and swore as savagely as Burke at their ill luck. 
Burke seized the books and would have thrown them over- 
board, but Duno arrested his hand, saying : 

“ Hold on — hold on, Burke ; there may be big money in 
’em yet.” 

“ Ho reward was ever offered for ’em ? ” 

“But keep ’em any way. Some day we’ll bring out 
all the letters, and they may be worth somethin’.” 

This possibility saved them, Burke put them in the old 
bag, and once more dropped them into the dark hole from 
whence he had taken them. 


MRS. SNIFFLES APPALLED. 


121 


CHAPTER XVI. 

MRS. SNIFFLES APPALLED. 

Rev. William Dempster, had been trying to conduct 
a revival at his church. It met with poor success owing 
to so few attending. Mr. Dempster threw his whole soul 
in the grand work. But revivals are not so easily con. 
ducted in cities as in villages or small towns, and of all 
cities, New York is the most difficult in which to stir up 
religious interest. 

William Dempster labored earnestly to bring souls to 
Christ, but the numbers at his church grew less instead of 
greater, and conversions fewer. Unfortunately for the suc- 
cess of his revival, William Dempster had the same hin- 
drances which annoy many other good pastors ; he had 
members whose ambition was to guide and direct, or ruin 
everything. Conspicuous among these was Mrs. Sniffles. 
She called herself one of the church-workers, and was 
always ready to aid with her suggestions. The good lady 
was never so happy as when delivering an address, or 
reading an essay to an audience. She had a dubious 
story of her own encounter with sin, which she never 
lost an opportunity to tell, in public or private. There 
were some who doubted her miraculous conversion, and 
she often cast a damper on the religious ardor of her 
hearers. 

Mr. Dempster had struggled with all his enthusiasm, 
and brought all the members of his congregation to his 
aid, and as yet the results were poor. Among the irregu- 
lar attendants were Mrs. Joyce, Allie Gray, old Joe 
Ruggles and his wife, from the street we have called 


CALAMITY non'. 


122 

Calamity liow. They had apparently been interested in 
the revival, and the minister, knowing that neither of 
them belonged to any religious order, hoped to add them 
to his small flock. 

One night after dismissing his congregation, almost in 
despair, he hurried out after Mr. and Mrs. Sniffles, who 
had gone too quickly for him to speak to them. There 
was nothing for the minister to do but follow them. He 
waited until the next car came along and sprang into it. 
The' minister’s face expressed the deep anxiety of his 
soul. How many in this world seemed careless about 
their spiritual welfare, and ail his efforts to arouse them 
seemed in vain. At the corner where Mr. Sniffles lived, 
Mr. Dempster sprang off the platform while the car was 
still in motion, and running up the steps rang the bell. 
Mr. and Mrs. Sniffles had just entered the parlor and 
seated themselves for a moment’s rest, while Mrs. Sniffles 
expressed her mind on brother Dempster’s inability to 
conduct a revival. 

“ La, who can that be, Isaias ? ” said Mrs. Sniffles with 
a little impatient start. 

Miss Mary and Miss Dolly, in a little flutter of wonder, 
indulged in a giggle as the latter hurried to open 
the door. She was astonished to find that it was Mr. 
Dempster, and her good parents were even more surprised 
to know that he had followed so close on their heels. 

“I suppose you will require* an explanation of me,” 
said the minister on entering the parlor where Sniffles 
and wife sat. 

“ Why, yes, brother Dempster ; but be seated first ; you 
are not going to rush right off,” said Mrs. Sniffles. 

“Ya-as, set down, you ain’t agoin’ to rush right off?” 
repeated her husband. 

Thus urged, the minister sat down in front of Mr, 


MllS. SNIFFLES APPALLED. 


123 


Sniffles and wife. “ I intended to speak with you before 
you left the church, but you hurried away so sudden- 
ly ” 

“ So we did,” interrupted Mrs. Sniffles, “ but it looked 
very much as if it was going to rain, and we wanted to 
get home first.” 

“Ya-as, we thought it was goin’ to rain, and wanted to 
get home first,” repeated Mr. Sniffles. 

“ I supposed so, and I came on to see you. Our re- 
vival is not what it should be,” said the minister, “ and I 
thought it best to consult some of the leading members 
of my congregation — ” 

“ Of course,” interrupted the shrill, cracked voice of 
Mrs. Sniffles. 

“Of course,” drawled the husband. 

“We must try, sister Sniffles, to put more life in our 
meetings,” said the good pastor. 

“ Of course, ” squeaked Mrs. Sniffles. 

“ I do not know any one in my little flock whom I 
think more willing to advise or work than yourself. ” 

“Of course,” said Mrs. Sniffles, seeming to grow taller, 
straighter, and more important. 

“ There must be some work done ; and in the armies 
of the Lord, we must have captains who are willing to 
lead. It not only requires one to have a pure heart, but 
nerve as well. We want some one of the material of 
which martyrs of old were made.” 

“ Of course, brother Dempster,” assented the shrill 
voice of Mrs. Sniffles. “ I have always contended in my 
addresses before our Ladies’ Aid Society for the Indigent 
Children of the Metropolis, that we were the stuff of 
which martyrs are made. I have labored in all my ad- 
dresses to the sisters to convince them that we should 
make sacrifices. But with all our lectures the sheep 


CALAMITY ROW. 


m . 

won’t come into tlie fold. It is then that our hearts 
are made to bleed.” 

“Then, sister Sniffles, we should go out and bring 
them in. Don’t you know we are commanded to go into 
the hedges and by-ways ? ” said the pastor. 

“I know that,” Mrs. Sniffles answered, shrilly. “I 
have suggested again and again to the sisters of the 
Ladies’ Aid Society for the Indigent Children of the 
Metropolis the necessity of having a meeting with a 
platform erected in some public place, where I could 
appeal to the people.” 

“ I admire your zeal, sister Sniffles, but in order to 
save these poor degraded people, you must humble your- 
self, be willing to take them by the hand and lift them 
up out of the gutter.” 

“ Won’t I be humbling myself when I go down among 
them to preach? Won’t I be ready to take them by the 
hand as they come to me — ” 

“Yes, sister, but you must go to them. You must 
kneel down by them in the gutter, and pray for them. 
They may rebuke and revile you, but you must be will- 
ing to endure all for the Master’s sake.” 

Mrs. Sniffles was taken back by this description of true 
Christian work. She sat for some moments in silence. 
She was willing to make public speeches, and, during re- 
vival meetings, to visit well-dressed people in the congre- 
gation, and to talk and pray with them. But she occu- 
pied a position in a sort of an under-stratum of ISTew York 
society, and her place was of more consequence to her, 
than the souls of these wretched people whom her good 
pastor would send her out to reclaim. She said nothing^ 
though her mind was busy. The minister continued : 

“You noticed, sister Sniffles, that the congregation 
was smaller to-night than since the revival began. The 


MBS. SNIFFLES APPALLED. 


125 


interest is on the wane. I want aid ; must 1 have help 
from my members. All who have been reclaimed, sister 
Sniffles, should be willing to carry the glad tidings to 
others. I want you to help me in spreading the gospel.” 

Mrs. Sniffles felt not a little flattered at this urgent 
appeal to herself, and her thin nostrils were elevated 
several degrees in the air. Her husband sat with a grin 
on his face and his thumbs deeper into the arm-holes of 
his vest as he gazed in admiration on his better-half. 
After sniffing the air a moment like a greyhound on a 
scent, she began : 

“If the Lord wants me to go forth, to call men and 
women to repentance, I will not be one to shrink.” Her 
husband, with a smile on his rubicund face, said : 

“Ya-as, brother Dempster, she will not shrink from 
her duty.” 

“ There are three or four whom I have had in my 
mind,” the minister went on to say. “I think the Spirit 
has touched their hearts, and I feel sure they are even 
now under conviction, and through your influence may be 
converted. God may have intended you as an instru- 
ment to bring these souls to Him.” The good woman 
was all eagerness and anxiety to begin the work of salva- 
tion. The minister went on. “There is the cobbler’s 
wife, Mrs. Joyce, and Miss Gray, the shop-girl — ” 

“Of Calamity Row ? ” interrupted Mrs. Sniffles, her 
voice an octave higher and shriller. 

“Of Calamity Row?” echoed her parrot husband, 
looking about from his perch on the piano stool. 

“Yes, sister, from Calamity Row. They were not 
present to-night, and I cannot understand the reason, 
unless they fear they are not welcome. I want you to 
call on them and make them feel that they are. They 
have souls to save, and it is our mission and our desire to 
help the least as well as the greatest.” 


120 


CALAMITY ROW . 


That thin sharp nose of Mrs. Sniffles seemed to have a 
more than usual upward tendency. It grew momentarily 
higher. Her eyes flashed and Dolly, who knew a tem- 
pest was brewing, giggled, while the husband and father 
looked hopelessly puzzled. Mr. Dempster, by mention- 
ing Calamity Row, had inadvertently touched on forbid- 
den ground. She hated them all, and most especially , 
did she hate Allie Gray. She was willing to do any- 
thing for the Lord, save befriend that shop-girl. She re- 
garded her as the insurmountable barrier between Miss 
Mary and the wealthy young man from the West. Her 
temj>er rose to the highest pitch, and fixing her indig- 
nant eyes on the minister, she demanded in her harsh, 
shrill, cracked voice : 

“ The cobbler and wife indeed ! Why, brother Demp- 
ster, you must be crazy. D’ye think I’d dirty my skirts- 
with Calamity Row and those creatures.” 

“ They are God’s creatures,” said the astounded par- 
son, “ and I can hardly believe you are in earnest. They 
have souls to save — ” 

“ But it is not my calling to go into such reeking dens 
of infamy and degrade myself and my daughters,” inter- 
rupted Mrs. Sniffles, sharply. 

“ I thought you anxious to save souls ? ” was all the 
astounded pastor could say. 

“Oh, it’s all very nice for you to say that. You w T ho 
stand in the pulpit and preach. Why don’t you give 
the ladies a chance to talk in church, and you go into 
Calamity Row r yourself ? ” 

“ I will go, sister Sniffles,” declared the minister, anxious 
to make peace. “ If you object, I w ill go in your place. 

I only supposed you would be anxious to do the work.” 

“ But I am not, I want nothing to do wdth such unclean 
creatures as that shop-girl, Allie Gray,” shrieked Mrs. 
Sniffles, her short chin quivering with anger. 


MRS. SNIFFLES A PPALLED. 


127 


“ I beg pardon, sister Sniffles,” said the perplexed min- 
ister. “ You should not call that which God has cleansed 
common or unclean.” 

u It’ll take a good deal to cleanse her, brother Dempster ; 
it’ll take a sight to make her respectable.” 

“ I have made some inquiries concerning her, and she 
seems to be a most respectable young lady,” said the 
minister, almost thrown off his balance by this unexpected 
attack. 

“I guess I know. She’s no better than she ought to 
be, and not as good. I know enough to know that I 
don’t want my daughters to associate with such a creat- 
ure.” 

The minister seeing that he could make matters 
no better by remaining, resolved to take his departure 
and visit the people in Calamity Row himself. He tried 
to smooth matters over, by saying that doubtless the 
duty was unpleasant for a lady of sister Sniffles’ delicate 
nerves ; but those erring souls must be reclaimed. Mrs. 
Sniffles assured him their church would be better without 
such as Allie Gray, and that her daughters would not as- 
sociate with her, even in church relationship. 

Mr. Dempster bade adieu to all, and left the house. 
As he descended the stoop he heard the voice of Mrs. 
Sniffles, and fearing her remarks were not complimentary 
to himself, he boarded a passing car, and went thundering 
down the street to his home. 


128 


CALAMITY ROW. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

jack bolin’s search. 

Seated in the small office of the wharfinger, looking 
disconsolate and careworn, was Jack Bolin. He was 
alone. The wharfinger, an old friend, had gone to the 
dock to attend to the landing of a schooner. It is night, 
and a solitary oil lamp lights up the dingy little office. 
The lamp sits on a long, greasy, coal-begrimed box. By 
the side of the lamp is a desk, with a tall stool in front 
of it. Two or three old dirty account books, with a bad 
pen and a large ink-horn, are on the desk. A cast-iron 
stove is in the office. A fire is roaring in the stove, for 
the night is very chilly. The great thick-cheeked stove 
is blushing red with heat. A rough pine table is on the 
left side of the office. A cat is on the table near the 
stove, dozing and purring with infinite satisfaction. The 
old sailor’s face, as usual, was so coal begrimed it would be 
difficult to determine his nationality. His rugged fore- 
head was. gathering into a knot, as if there was some 
painful subject with which he was struggling. 

“ If Bill don’t come soon,” said the sailor starting up, 
“I’ll weigh anchor and leave port. I’m not a wharfinger 
nor his deputy, and besides, I’ve got my own business to 
look after.” 

At this moment a step was heard outside, the door 
opened, and the wharfinger entered. Without a word 
he went to his desk, and opening a large book began to 
write in it, paying no attention to the sailor whom lie 
had left in charge during his absence. Jack Bolin un- 
derstood the wharfinger too well to feel offended at what 


JACK BOLIN'S SEARCH. 


m 


might seem like neglect. After sitting a few moments 
longer in silence the lame sailor rose to his feet and 
stumped to the door. 

“ Are you cornin’ back,” asked the wharfinger without 
looking from the book in which he was making an entry. 

“ I expect not,” Jack answered, strolling into the night. 
Though dark it was early. Thick masses of fog seemed 
banked up against the city, until at a short distance it 
looked like an impenetrable wall. On the river and harbor 
could be heard the continued blasts of fog horns keeping 
a constant roar. The street lamps at a few rods away 
looked grim and ghostlike through the gloom, and were 
totally invisible three blocks distant. As old Jack was 

* picking his way along the muddy street, he suddenly came 
face to face with three men. They halted for a moment, 
for so sudden was the rencounter that he almost ran 
against them. One fellow with a cowardly air slunk 
away into the surrounding darkness. The other two 
were bold to impudence, and Jack thought as he passed 
them that they must be of that class of which footpads 
are made. 

“ They are at some mischief,” he said to himself. 
“ They’re bad-lookin’ crafts, dock-rats I reckin’. Seems 
to me Pve hailed ’em afore. They are the rascals who 
wouldn’t take a line for an old crippled salt when I came 
into port.” 

f The ill-looking knaves hurried away to the river, going 
in the direction of Jack’s sloop. The sailor had no inter- 
est in them save to surmise what mischief they might be 
at. Ilis own cabin on his vessel was locked, and even if 
it had not been, there was little there to excite the cupid- 
ity of thieves. The wooden-legged sailor stumped along 
the street, his iron ferruled leg ringing ominously 
against the hard brick pavement. 


ISO 


CALAMITY ROW. 


Jack made his way to Calamity Row, where he came 
to old Granny Gride’s little box-like stand. It faced the 
shop of Mrs. Joyce and depended on the pale light from 
the shop windows to supply the stand. Like some anti- 
quated ogre or exhumed mummy, the old woman sat in 
her box. The sailor came to the front, and Granny Gride 
involuntarily shrunk back into the deeper gloom of her 
little den. 

“Let me come aboard, Granny,” said Jack. 

“Surely, Jack, ye wouldn’t go to hurtin’ a poor old 
body like me,” she whined from the darkest corner of 
her little box. 

“ No, — ye needn’t he afraid to open yer hatches, for 
much as ye need hoistin’ to the yard arm, I’m a true salt, 
an’ never will scuttle hulks what kin barely keep afloat.” 

The old woman rose slowly, and feebly shuffled her way 
to the end of the box, where she opened a narrow door, 
through which the sailor squeezed his bulky body. He 
gazed about the narrow, cramped apartment to which he 
had been admitted, but it was too dark for his eyes to 
penetrate the farther corner. The atmosphere was close. 
The old woman, in her feeble, shattered voice, bade him 
be seated. Jack found a chair near the entrance and sat 
down, Granny Gride resumed her seat, and for several 
minutes both were silent. The old wrinkled woman 
looked more witchlike than she would under the light of 
day. 

The sailor wanted to speak, and yet dreading the 
answer, hesitated to do so. 

After sitting a long time, old Jack broke the silence: 

“Nancy Gride,” he said, in a low, solemn voice, “can’t 
you remember anything at all about it ? ” 

“No more’n I’ve told ye,” she answered in her feeble, 
creaking voice. 


JACK HOLIN' S SEARCH. 


181 


“I can’t believe it,” he said, with a deep-drawn sigh, 
“You must go down into the hatchway of your recollec- 
tions, and there you may find things you’d forgotten.” 

Again a silence fell on the two sitting motionless and 
ghostlike in the gloom. At last Granny Gride said : 

“ Have you been to the Orphan’s Christian Home yet ? ” 

“No,” was the sad response, “I don’t suppose it’s any 
use.” 

“ Ye might find some ’un there who’d know somethin’ 
about it.” 

The sailor started. The idea had never occurred to 
him before. Why not see the people there ? They might 
tell him something. He bowed his head in his hands and 
drew his forehead into a mass of wrinkles, and after a 
moment of thoughtful silence started up and said : 

“I will do it, Granny.” Old Jack rose to his feet, and 
drawing his hard, rough hand across his bearded face, 
said : “ Guess I’ll weigh anchor and set sail.” 

He started to the orphan asylum. It was not yet late, 
and many business establishments were open. Beyond 
doubt he would find the matron still up. He came to 
the large brown-stone establishment and rang the bell. 

The hall porter came to admit him. 

“ Who do you want to see?” he asked. 

“ I want to see the captain, the chief mate,” Jack an- 
swered, doffing his cap and pulling his forelock. 

“ Maybe it’s the matron you want to see ? ” 

“ Guess you’re ’bout right, shipmate.” 

He was shown to the waiting-room, where he stood, 
his cap under his arm, *not daring to sit down on those 
cushioned chairs. The matron, a portly, middle-aged 
woman, entered. 

“Well, sir,” she said, “what can I do for you this 
evening?” 


t 



C, 

I 


CALAMITY BOW. 


132 

Once more the old sailor pulled his forelock, and gave 
the quid of tobacco in his mouth an extra turn, and an- 
swered * 

“Well, I can’t say, shipmate — or madam, I mean. 
I’m kinder sailin’ in unknown waters without chart or 
compass. Fact is, messmate — or madam — I’m lookin’ 
fur a baby.” 

“A baby ! — what is it’s name ? ” asked the matron, who 
appreciated the sailor’s embarrassment, and knew that 
she would sooner get at the object of his visit by mildly 
leading him. 

“Well, now, shipmate — or (I beg pardon) madam — 
you’ve got me off my soundin’s. I don’t know what the 
child’s name was.” 

“ Was it left here ? ” 

“ Yes’m.” 

“ How long since ? ” 

“ About seventeen years ago. 

“ Who left it ? ” 

“ Old Nancy Gride.” 

“ At this asylum ? ” 

“ Yes’m.” 

“ Well, sir, I’m afraid that we can’t help you. Ten 
years ago the old orphan asylum here was burnt ” 

A look of pallor overspread the sailor’s face. 

“ I say, shipmate — or madam — was the child burned 
with the house ? ” 

“No, — no lives were lost,” she answered; “but the 
books of the establishment, which would show the register- 
ing of the baby, were either burned or carried off during 
the fire, and were never found.” 

Old Jack was again nonplussed. Hopeless as was the 
task, and many as were the difficulties in his way, he 
resolved with characteristic pluck to prosecute the 
search. 


JACK BOLIN'S SEARCH. 


133 


44 Were you aboard when she burned?” he asked. 

“ Do you mean was I here when the old ‘ Home ’ 
burned ? ” said the matron. 

“ Yes’m, that’s it.” 

44 1 was not.” 

“ Was any one else ? ” 

u Yes, several.” 

“ Do they know anything o’ the little craft I’m tryin’ 
to find?” 

“ No, it would have been seven years old when the 
asylum burned, and was doubtless claimed or adopted 
long before that.” 

“ Well, shipmate — or madam — is there any one aboard 
this craft now, who was here when the baby was picked 
up and brought into port by old Nance Gride?” 

“ There is no one,” said the matron. “I am very — 
very sorry to discourage you, sir, but I fear we can give 
you no information whatever concerning the child. 
The books were either burned or carried off by a fellow 
then in the employ of the establishment. He was accused 
of destroying the building in order to destroy the books. 
He was convicted of arson and served a long time in the 
penitentiary. Whether he is in prison yet, dead, or dis- 
charged, I do not know. There were some rumors afloat 
that the asylum was destroyed and the books burned to 
conceal the birth of a child left here, but it was all 
hushed up with sending the fellow to prison,” concluded 
the woman touched by the sailor’s earnestness. 

Jack bade her adieu and turned away sad and dis- 
appointed. His hopes had not been raised very high, 
and yet high enough to be dashed with shocking force 
to the ground. As he walked along the street, he re- 
alized that he was much farther from the accomplishment 
of his object than before. Poor Jack was discouraged. 


134 


CALAMITY ROW. 


but in his despair he swore, anew, to devote his life to 
the one aim that actuated him for so many years. 

The sailor returned to his sloop. The fog had in- 
creased in density until one could scarce see an oar’s- 
length on the water. The deep hoarse whistle of steamers 
kept up a montonous roar. Jack reached the deck of 
his small craft by means of a board, on which cleats were 
nailed, extending from deck to dock. He walked aft to 
the small cabin, lighted a candle and placed it on a 
table. A few dirty well-thumbed books were lying on a 
shelf against the wall. The sloop lay broadside to the 
old rotten barge, which we described in a former chapter. 
The sailor had scarcely seated himself by the table, when 
he heard the sound of voices on the other boat. Though 
he had long suspected that some one inhabited the 
rotten old hulk, he w’as never before certain. Starting 
up, he listened. Yes, those were human voices, though 
their words were unintelligible. Jack had not seen the 
old barge used for anything for the past two or three 
years, save as a floating dock to which other vessels 
moored, and a rendezvous for wharf-rats to lounge and 
fish. Now he was satisfied that some one occupied it by 
night. 

Filled with curiosity he extinguished his light, and 
opening the door of his small cabin, walked out on deck, 
as noiseless as it was possible for a man with a wooden 
leg to walk. The sterns of the sloop and barge lay 
against each other, and he stepped without difficulty to 
the deck of the barge. The upper part of the cabin was 
raised about six or seven feet above the deck. There 
was a window aft which emitted a sickly light. Know- 
ing that the sound of voices proceeded from the cabin, 
Jack crept to the window so softly that he was not 
heard. Glancing in, he saw seated, on chair and benches* 
the three men he had passed on the street. 


COL. v an derbubg on CALAMITY ROW. 135 


Was it because his mind was busy with the subject of 
the last records of the Orphans’ Christian Home ; or did 
he really hear them mention books ? He crept closer and 
listened more intently. Burke was “ staring the coward- 
ly Duno out of countenance,” and the timid man was 
saying, 

“There may be money in the books, Burke; you’d 
better keep ’em. But there’s danger in ’em too. Better 
not let it git out.” 

“ Ha, ha, ha ! Duno, you are such a coward yer afraid 
o’ your own shadder,” laughed Burke. 

“I’m only a poor laborin’ man — ” began Duno. 

“ Oh, shut up,” interrupted Burke. “ Laborin’ man, 
nuthin,’ — you may take in that sucker from Tennessee 
that way, but we know ye. The books are safe in the 
hold, and if we can make a raise on ’em they’re open to 
whoever ’ll pay the most. There’s no danger in ’em, 
and but little money, I’m thinkin’.” 

Their conversation shifted to some other subject, and 
after waiting an hour for them to revert to the books, the 
sailor made his way to his sloop somewhat mystified. 


; ; CHAPTER XYIH. 

COL VANDERBURG ON CALAMITY ROW. 

Like a hungry wolf let loose on the unwary, winter 
sometimes bursts in on the rear of glorious autumn, 
which, alarmed, flies before her shrieking blasts. ISTo 
place is more susceptible to sudden changes than New 
York. One day you are enjoying delightful weather, 
and the next will be ushered in with a howling snow 
storm, 


3G 


CALAMITY BOH’. 


One of these sudden changes came a few days after 
the Vanderburg ball. For a day or two after the ball 
the weather had been delightful, then it grew foggy, 
and a rain followed. On the first cold morning Mr. 
Darlington came to see the colonel, whose health usually 
improved with cold weather, and tried to unload his 
“ Transcontinental ” on him. The young speculator was 
convinced he had bought too deeply, and even a small 
shrinkage would produce an irreparable loss. There was 
one hope left ; Col. Vanderburg might be induced to take 
half the burden off his shoulders. 

“I will see about your stocks to-morrow, Ed,” said 
Col. Vanderburg. “I am getting better, and will, I 
think, by that time, be able to get out.” 

Mr. Darlington stood near the door, his fine clear 
face just a trifle careless and good-natured, yet had that 
business cunning always about the eyes. He laughed 
jocosely, almost carelessly, at Col. Vanderburg’s answer. 

“I am not very particular about disposing of my 
Transcontinental, Col. Vanderburg,” he said, carelessly. 
“I thought I would just as soon give you half a million 
as not.” 

“ Do you really wish to give me a half million, Ed ? ” 
asked the colonel. 

“ Why, yes, to be sure I do.” 

“ Then just give me your check for that much, instead 
of my giving you my check for ten thousand shares of 
your Transcontinental stocks.” 

“ Oh, but that is not business — ” 

“No, it is not; — neither is it business for a man who 
has stock which he knows will double in value in ten 
days, to wish to sell half at ten per cent, increase. 
Don’t try to catch a man who has spent nearly a life-time 
on Wall Street.” 


COL. VANDERBURG ON CALAMITY ROW. 137 

Darlington flushed and paled by turns. He knew 
Col. Vanderburg to be a deep business man, but had 
calculated a great deal on his own personal influence, 
and the colonel’s present feeble condition. It was not the 
colonel’s shrewdness, but his mental strength which 
Darlington had underestimated. 

“We are trying to work up a corner on Jay Gould, 
Col. Vanderburg,” said the discomfited speculator. “I 
bought in that Transcontinental stock, expecting you to 
take half and help me tide over.” 

“ Oh, well then, there is really a squeeze coming?” 

Darlington saw his blunder when too late. With a 
smile, which it would take a connoisseur to discover was 
not genuine, he said : 

“Yes, of course there will be, but it will all come out 
right. You see, Gould has covered his shorts, and is 
prepared to take hold the moment I part with the Trans- 
continental. I would be all right if I had not parted 
with some loan stock which has unfortunately been 
called in.” 

“ Well, but your Transcontinental, how is it now?” 

The question was direct, and as Ed knew that the 
colonel would only have to look at the paper lying at 
his side to read the market, he said : 

u It’s down a little just now, but if I can only hold it 
a few days longer, it is bound to come up. Gould is 
trying to squeeze me, but I shall look out for him.” 

“You have told the truth at last, Darlington. I will 
be out to-morrow, and then look into your stock. But 
I should be a poor speculator to take half your burden 
without knowing what I was about to carry.” 

With a light laugh Ed went down. No sooner had he 
seated himself in his carriage, than he said : 

“ The old fellow is not near dead yet. He haa more 


138 


CALAMITY BOW, 


business in him now, than half the men on Wall 
Street.” 

Next day was bitter cold. Col. Vanderburg, some- 
what to the surprise of his servants, ordered his carriage. 
Mrs. Vanderburg did not know that her husband was 
going out on that bitter cold morning, until he came 
down arrayed in furs and wraps, and entered the coach. 
She watched him from the bay window of her cosey bou- 
doir with a feeble curiosity to know how much better he 
felt, and where he was going. But after the carriage had 
rolled away, she yawned like a fashionable lady, and be- 
gan turning the leaves of a society novel. 

The air was bitter cold ; clouds of vapor issued from 
the nostrils of the horses. Drivers, from their perches, 
clapped their hands around their shoulders to keep them 
warm. Pedestrians hurried along, endeavoring to tuck 
their faces down into the collars of their coats or mufflers. 
Where puddles of dirty water had been two days before, 
were now sheets of ice. The mud and slush were frozen 
almost as hard as the stone pavements over which ten 
thousand vehicles rolled. The peculiar sharp ring of 
wheels and hoofs indicated extreme cold weather. The 
beggar in rags shivered on the corner; her pinched face 
looked more haggard than ever. 

Col .Vanderburg reclined in his carriage, closely wrapped 
in his fur robes ; his mind, as usual, was busy with pain- 
ful recollections of the past. His disease w r as more of the 
heart than the body. His early marriage — the tragic 
death of his wife and only child, had broken him down. 
His second marriage, after several years of widowerhood, 
had surprised his friends. He never complained of his 
fashionable wife, though all knew their tastes were not 
congenial, and that they could not love each other. 
There is a sanctity about the marriage vow which makes 


COL. VAN HERB URQ ON CALAMITY ROW. 139 

the loyal victim unwilling to admit mistakes palpable to 
the whole world. The Colonel bowed his head as his 
carriage rolled along over the cobble-stones. 

“ Oh, — if only one had been spared ! ” he sighed, dis- 
mally, “ I might yet feel that I had some person to 
sympathize with me.” 

His mind, according to its habit, reverted for relief to 
business affairs. He smiled when he remembered how 
easily he had fathomed Ed. Darlington’s design ; one less 
acquainted with sharpers would have become a victim. The 
eyes of the speculator wandered out on the street. He saw 
people hurrying by, drawing about them costly furs, 
some looked comfortable, some miserable ; some happy 
and others sad. Those in costly furs sometimes wore 
an anxious, careworn look, while those in thin robes 
seemed buoyant, notwithstanding their chilled forms. 

“ I wish I was one of them,” sighed the Colonel. “ Pov- 
erty and happiness would be better than wealth and 
misery.” The horses dashed down the street and the 
driver had to use all his skill to curb the fiery animals. 
The warm stable, and the bracing, warming cold had set 
their blood on fire. The distant roar of an elevated train 
could be heard. At this moment, the carriage suddenly 
entered a noisy, dark street, with jingling cars below and 
roaring trains above. In many of the houses gas was 
burning, although it was .midday. Ten thousand vehicles 
of all kinds were hurrying in every direction. 

Suddenly, overhead, there was a roaring rush, as if 
some great winged monster was soaring above. The 
blooded horses began to show signs of uneasiness. The 
driver clutched the lines tightly and spoke to them. Col. 
Vanderburg suddenly felt the carriage leap forward, as if 
some ponderous battering-ram had struck it. He fell 
backwards confused, yet not alarmed. He was conscious 


140 


CALAMITY BOW. 


of a rushing, crashing and tearing along among vehi- 
cles, excited men, and plunging horses, and of whizzing 
along at a wonderful rate of speed. There was no time 
to act ; none to think. He could only grasp the cushioned 
seat and try to maintain his equilibrium. The carriage 
rattled along, swaying from side to side, for a few mo- 
ments, when he became conscious of a crash and jingle 
of broken glass. Then a stunning blow and fall ; and 
then insensibility. 

When the Colonel recovered consciousness, he was lying 
on a bed in a small, tidy, but plain room. Some one was 
bending over him. He felt a severe pain in his left shoulder 
and slight stings in several parts of his head and face. Two 
persons were conversing in a low voice. One was a man 
and the other a woman or child. After a few moments 
he became aware that cooling applications were being 
placed on his stinging wounds. The persons who were 
kindly administering to his wants, though conversing in 
low tones, were understood by the half conscious man. 

“Do you think he is seriously hurt, Doctor?” asked 
the young girl whose gentle touch soothed the injured 
man. 

“No. I am satisfied no bones are broken, though he’s 
badly bruised,” answered the surgeon. “ Do you know 
who he is ? ” he asked of a man in blue with a star on his 
breast. 

“ No,” the policeman gruffly answered. “ His carriage 
is all smashed up so it’s unrecognizable, and the driver 
was sent insensible to the hospital. He ought to go 
there too.” 

“ These severed arteries must be tied before he’s .moved, 
or the hemorrhage may prove fatal.” replied the doctor. 

Col. Vanderburg now opened his eyes and stared about 
the room. There were but three persons in sight, though 


COL . VANDERBERG 017 CALAMITY ROW . 141 


he could hear the subdued voices of many more in the 
adjoining apartment. The policeman had stationed him- 
self as a sort of a guard at the doorway, to keep back the 
curious. The surgeon was none other than Dr. Morey, 
whom we first met in the dissecting room, who chanced 
to be at hand when the carriage upset, and, aided by Jake, 
dragged the injured man to Mrs. Joyce’s shop. Finally 
the eyes of the injured man rested on his young nurse. 
Her fair young face and clear blue eyes were quite at- 
tractive, for he kept his gaze fixed on her for some time. 
To gaze on that sweet face seemed like reviving forgotten 
dreams, and the wounded man felt as if he could lie there 
all his life and look into those large blue eyes. 

The policeman, impatient to exercise authority, came 
to the wounded man’s side and said : 

Sir, don’t you want to be removed ? ” 

“ No, no, let me stay here — let me stay here,” begged 
the injured man, his scarred features expressing his ar- 
dent wish more than words. 

“ Oh certainly, if it’s yer wish, but ye ought to have 
been taken to the hospital,” growled the man of the blue 
coat and brass buttons. 

“ No, no, I will do better here. The doctor here knows 
I will, don’t you, doctor ? ” 

Dr. Morey answered affirmatively ; the officer muttered 
something about his being only a medical student. “ I 
don’t care what he is,” answered the irritated colonel. 
‘‘I have chosen him for my physician, and I’m sure I 
require no guard. You can be excused.” 

The policeman growled, slowly withdrew, and returned 
to his beat. Col. Yanderburg lay gazing into the sweet 
young face before him. 

“ Do you want to be taken to your home ? ” the doctor 
Asked. 


142 


CALAMITY MOW. 


“ No, not yet, I will stay here. She will care for me. 
Let her stay.” 

“ Can you, Miss — Miss — I believe I don’t know your 
name?” stammered the doctor. 

“Allie Gray is my name,” she answered. “I can 
watch over him. I am sure Mrs. Joyce will let me off 
from the store awhile.” 

The sick man looked very grateful, and smiled as he 
felt the gentle hand smoothing his pillow. He closed his 
eyes and seemed to sleep. The doctor said he would re- 
turn soon. He had forgotten to ask his patient’s name, 
and little dreamed that he was one of New York’s mil- 
lionaires. He came back that evening with Fred Saun- 
ders, who agreed to share the vigils with Allie, at the bed 
of the wounded man. The doctor was with them until 
late that night, then dressing the wounds and giving his 
patient an opiate, he left, agreeing to call early in the 
morning. The sick man had a fever and lay for the 
most of the time with his eyes half closed. 

Allie took her place at his side, and a gentle, patient 
nurse she proved. Her sweet face was so full of sympa- 
thy that Fred thought she resembled a ministering angel. 
He found himself growing more and more interested in 
the shop-girl as he observed with what untiring care and 
gentleness, she administered to the wants of the sufferer. 
She did not sleep, she seldom spoke, and never above a 
whisper, and was at the side of the wounded man at the 
slightest murmur or groan of pain. As Fred Saunders 
noticed her devoted care to one, a stranger, who had no 
claim on her affections, he thought : “ Surely she is a wo- 
man worthy to be any one’s friend, sister, companion — 
or wife.” 

And yet she was only a Calamity Row shop-girl. 

The wounded man in his delirium insisted on calling 


THE MINISTER'S DILEMMA. 


143 

her Aurelia, and was miserable if she left his side. He 
held her hand in his and murmured some unintelligible 
words which expressed so much sorrow as almost to move 
his hearers to tears. Dr. Morey came early next morn- 
ing and found his patient better. He w r as now sufficient- 
ly recovered to give his name and address. Mrs. Van- 
derburg was informed of the colonel’s injury, and that 
lady had such profound interest in her husband’s welfare, 
as to have him c.onveyed home at once, the family physi- 
cian called, and a nurse hired ; but her nerves were not 
strong enough to sit by him as he lay on his bed of pain, 
though she went to the theatre that very evening with 
Mr. Darlington. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

4 

THE MINISTER’S DILEMMA. 

Mrs. Sniffles’ indignation burst all bounds, when on 
attending church, she found “ that same crowd from Ca- 
lamity Row,” present. “ What can brother Dempster 
mean ? ” she asked her husband in a shrill whisper. Mr. 
Sniffles, without the least idea of the question, repeated, 
and smiled with owl-like wisdom. 

Mrs. Sniffles’ temper rose with the tip of her thin nos- 
trils, as she saw the wealthy young man from the west 
sitting just across the aisle casting shy glances at the 
shop-girl. What could he see in that blue-eyed creature 
to admire ? She did not begin to compare with the plump 
Miss Mary, who with nose naturally turned upward, sat 
with her arms folded across her breast, gazing expression- 
less at the minister. When a call was made for those 


144 


CALAMITY ROW. 


seeking redemption to come forward, Mrs. Sniffles was 
horrified to see the shop-girl from Calamity Row at the 
altar. 

There was a fire kindling within Mrs. Sniffles. Good 
heaven ! what a volcanic, earthquake-bringing, all-con- 
suming fire it would prove ! Mrs. Sniffles grew more and 
more exasperated as she noted the effect of the shop-girl’s 
act on Fred Saunders, who, in spite of all her manage- 
ment, appeared invulnerable to Miss Mary’s charms. He 
was certainly interested in that disgraceful shop-girl. 
Why did she come here ? she had no right to be in her 
church! Why had she a soul to save at such an inop- 
portune moment? The members of the church gathered 
about the penitents to talk and pray with them ; but 
she remained in her seat. 

Mrs Sniffles’s nature was compounded with the nitre 
of irritability, the carbon of latent passion, and suL- 
phurous hate enough, when ignited, to burst forth with 
Vesuvian explosion. 

Before Allie Gray had applied for church relation- 
ship, Mrs. Sniffles had left the building. There were 
many who wondered of her strange conduct. She was 
informed the next day that Allie Gray from Calamity 
Row, with several others, had united with the church. 

“ It is an outrage to have such a character thrust on 
us,” said Mrs. Sniffles trying to scrutinize Tier visitor 
under her glasses. “Is the best society in New York to 
be punished with such a creature? — No. My girls shall 
never associate with her, I don’t care how many times 
she joins the church.” 

“ Brother Dempster thinks he is doing right,” her im- 
formant meekly replied. “ She has a soul to save.” 

“ A soul to save,” cried Mrs. Sniffles, her sharp chin 
quivering with wrath. “ Oh, now, don’t use that as 


THE MINISTER'S DILEMMA. 1 i.S 

an argument — use anything bat that. What if she has? 
it will never be saved ! Such things cannot be brought 
up from the dregs of their degradation. She shall not 
contaminate my daughters.” 

“Well, sister Sniffles, what shall we do?” 

“ She must be got rid of.” 

“ IIow can you do that ? ” 

Mrs. Sniffles looked very shrewd. A new idea had en- 
tered her mind. She would quietly crush the minister, 
or make him conform to her wishes. “Just wait a mo- 
ment and I will find a way,” she said. 

Going to a small escritoire, she took therefrom pen, 
ink, and two or three dozeh blanks for calling meetings 
of “ The Ladies Aid Society for the Indigent Children 
of the Metropolis.” Hastily filling these out, fixing the 
called meeting for the next day, she gave about one- 
third to her visitor, saying : 

“Distribute these among the members mentioned, and 
get as many others to come as you can. We will hold 
the meeting here at my house. Be sure and come, and 
bring all you can ; for there is important business to 
transact.” These instructions were delivered in an 
undertone with an air of mystery which aroused the 
curiosity of her visitor. The rest of the “ calls,” as Mrs. 
Sniffles denominated them, were distributed by her 
daughters. 

At the appointed hour, parlor and drawing-room were 
converted into an audience chamber. At one end of the 
room was placed a center-table, on which lay the books 
of the society, and pens and ink for recording the minutes 
of this remarkable meeting. 

Mrs. Sniffles, with glasses on her thin nose, presided. 
She was never more in her element than when presiding. 
The minutes of the preceding meeting were read, and 
10 


146 


CALAMITY ROW. 


approved, and adopted. Then Mrs. Sniffles gravely 
rose, poised herself for a moment on one foot and looked 
about over the audience, as she had seen female lecturers 
do, and began : 

“ Sisters of the Ladies’ Aid Society for the Indigent 
Children ^of the Metropolis, the matter we are called 
together to discuss is one of no ordinary nature. Its 
importance will become at once apparent when you are 
acquainted with it. It will be proper, perhaps, before 
proceeding, to call sister Spencer to the chair.” 

Mrs. Spencer, a short, fat woman about forty years of 
age, with red head and freckled face, waddled across the 
room to the chair, and she seated herself with all the 
dignity becoming a vice-president of this remarkable in- 
stitution. Having waited until the chair was filled (and 
sister Spencer completely filled it), Mrs. Sniffles sur- 
veyed the audience, on whose faces was puzzled wonder. 

She began, and the audience could hear the boiling 
and hissing within the crater. In the speaker’s breast 
were the components of the direst gunpowder, ready to 
be ignited by the smallest spark. In the body of her dis- 
course sparks were not wanting; without doubt some 
angel from the land of darkness hovered about her, flit- 
ting nearer and nearer, until his electric Promethean 
glance kindled the fireworks. Fearful fireworks of indig- 
nation they proved to be, soaring off rocket-wise, with 
successive bursts of splendor, until her voice sounded 
like the continuous rattling of a cracked kettle. Their 
pastor, who should be the good shepherd guarding his 
flock from the wolves, had taken into the fold a despic- 
able shop-girl from Calamity Row. Mrs. Sniffles declared 
that society would r.etire blushing behind its screen of 
purity — that virtue was stupefied with horror, and the 
wheels of the gospel car would be locked so long as the 


147 


THE MINISTER'S DILEMMA. 

shop-girl from Calamity Row was permitted to be one of 
them. It was a remarkable speech. She concluded by 
hoping that some sister would be kind enough to ex- 
press her views on the subject, reserving to herself the 
right to make the closing remarks. 

Sister Plunkett, a portly lady, with a benevolent smile 
on her pink face, asked if they were not an organization 
of ladies for the advancement of the indigent of the me- 
tropolis. Of course they were, everybody admitted. 
Then how could they better provide for the indigent than 
by taking them into the church, where they could always 
have them under their care. 

Mrs. Sniffles was about to boil over, when sister Bump- 
kin rose and delivered a few eulogistic remarks on sister 
Sniffles which, mollified the president, and called forth a 
speech from Mrs. Gumsnoodle, a tall, slim woman, with 
a clarion-like voice. She thought that what sister 
Sniffles had said was apropos ; that the sister understood 
what she was talking about, and every w r ord she had ut- 
tered was upholstered with truth ; but then she was quite 
of the opinion of sister Plunkett, and would not retreat 
from any position that had been taken. She heartily con- 
curred with brother Dempster as to the salvation of 
souls, and was willing to give the new convert her hand 
and take her to her heart, be her former character ever so 
bad. Mrs. Gumsnoodle managed to consume consider- 
able time and take every possible position. 

Mrs. Plunkett was outspoken in her praises of the min- 
ister. Who knew any harm of young sister Gray? She 
was a Christian, and brave Mrs. Plunkett declared her 
intention to take her to her heart and friendship regard- 
less of her humble position. Mrs. Plunkett also said that 
her case was presented to the church, and she had been 
admitted on probation. “ What has she done to be so 
ostracized ?” concluded Mrs. Plunket, 


148 


CALAMITY HOW. 


“ What has she done?” cried Mrs. Sniffles, shrilly, 
“ what has she done ? I don’t think I’d ask what she’s 
done. You all know what she’s done.” 

“ I must confess my ignorance,” replied Mrs. Plunkett, 
slowly and carefully. “ I don’t know of anything Allie 
Gray has done which would be a bar to her reformation, 
or to the salvation of her soul.” 

“ She lives on Calamity Row,” cried Mrs. Sniffles. 

“Well,” answered Mrs. Plunkett, with unruffled tem- 
per, “ we must not exclude one from Christ on account 
of her residence ; our Saviour was born in a manger.” 

“ That is not all. There are other reasons,” said Mrs. 
Sniffles, tapping the carpet with her foot. 

“ What other reasons have you ? ” 

“ Oh, there are plenty of them,” said Mrs. Sniffles, her 
thin upturned nostrils dilating with her sense of power. 
Rising to close the argument, she said it was useless to 
discuss the matter further. Most of the ladies present 
knew Allie Gray was not fit to associate with their 
daughters. As the new convert was only a probationer, 
she moved that the chair appoint a committee to wait on 
brother Dempster and request him to prevent the Ca- 
lamity Row girl’s coming into full church membership. 
The motion, though strongly opposed by Mrs. Plunkett 
and a few others, was carried. The clarion-voiced Mrs. 
Gurasnoodle was both for and against. The chair ap- 
pointed Mrs. Sniffles and two others on the committee, 
and then this wonderful meeting adjourned. 

Next day the committee presented itself at the parson- 
age, and was admitted by the good minister’s wife. She 
showed them to the little parlor and Mrs. Sniffles, with a 
business air, asked for “brother Dempster.” He was in 
his study; Mrs. Dempster said she would call him. No, 
Mrs. Sniffles answered that it was not worth while, they 


THE MINISTER' S DILEMMA. 


149 


would see him there. The minister’s wife, mechanical, 
ly showed them to the poor library where Mr. Dempster 
sat, hard at work. 

“ I am pleased to see you all,” said the minister, shak- 
ing Mrs. Sniffles, Mrs. Bumpkin and Mrs. Gumsnoodle 
by the hand. “ Be seated, I hope you are well ? ” 

Mrs. Sniffles in her shrillest tones began : 

“ Brother Dempster, it is our painful duty as the com- 
mittee of the, Ladies Aid Society for the Indigent Chil- 
dren of the Metropolis,” to censure your conduct.” 

“ My conduct?” interrupted the astounded man. 

“Yes, sir — your conduct ,” there w r as an emphatic nod 
accompanying each word. 

“ What have I done ? ” the good man meekly asked, 
after a moment’s silence. 

u What have you done ? ” Mrs. Sniffles screamed. 
“ You have admitted into our church one who is utterly 
innvorthy to associate with us. You must know who I 
mean. I regret the necessity of having to be plain. You 
have taken that thing — that vile creature— that Calamity 
Row 1 ' shop-girl, into our church. I had hinted broad 
enough on one occasion that she was not fit to become 
one of us, but you failed to be warned, and now you 
must meet the consequences. As a committee of the 
Ladies Aid Society for the Indigent Children of the 
Metropolis, w T e have come to tell you she must either 
be got rid of, or w T e will leave the church in a body,” 
and she threw' herself back wdtli a most determined air. 
“Yes, sir j leave you to flounder in all the dirt and filth 
of Calamity Row.” 

She had risen toiler feet in her eloquence and her fin- 
ger trembled like her chin. The Rev. Mr. Dempster 
began to get at her meaning He reflected a moment 
and said ; 


150 


CALAMITY IiOW. 


“ Well, sisters, I will give your demand careful and 
prayerful consideration. You must remember I have 
the law of our discipline to follow, and I greatly fear I 
cannot comply with your request, unless specific charges 
are preferred against the young sister.” 

“ Then, sir, you will lose two-thirds of your congrega- 
tion,” cried Mrs. Sniffles, haughtily, and sailed out of the 
parsonage, her head high in the air. 

Mrs. Gumsnoodle lingered long enough to whisper in 
the pastor’s ear to be of good cheer, that all of the mem- 
bers of the society would not desert him. 


CHAPTER XX. 

THE SAILOR’S YARN. 

The first cold snap of winter was over, and it had grown 
warmer again. One pleasant afternoon Fred and Horace 
strolled down to the dock to get a breath of fresh air. 
Col. Vanderburg’s injuries, and the care he had received 
at Calamity Row, were still fresh on their minds, and of 
course became the subject of conversation. Fred took 
advantage of the occasion to speak a few words of praise 
about Allie Gray. Horace made no trivial remarks this 
time, for he had seen the Calamity Row shop-girl, and 
was convinced that she was pure and good as well as 
beautiful ; and in speaking of her, he went as near into 
raptures as he ever allowed himself to go. He at last 
declared : 

“Fred, she is like a golden nugget in a mud-bank, or 
as a rare exotic amid a cluster of filthy weeds.” 

They had reached the outer end of the long dock, and 
paused a moment to gaze out on the harbor filled with 


THE SAIL01V6 YAKS'. 


151 


snowy sails gliding hither and thither. A few fleecy 
clouds were floating high in the heavens, seeming as mo- 
tionless as the city across the river, whose bright spires 
gleamed like burnished' silver. There were all the varied 
hues of the kaleidoscope, and mingling tinsel and gold. 
f ' The blue of the heavens came down and met the dark 
green of the ocean. The sunbeams fell on the dancing 
waves, and gave bright colors to the distant city, bring- 
ing into bolder relief the sails and smaller barks. A great 
ship lay at the dock, and a sailor was leaning over the 
bulwark, a pipe in his mouth, watching some dock-rats 
casting their lines. 

From these indolent "wretches, our friends turned to a 
good-natured coal begrimed sailor, who was sitting on a 
coil of rope on the deck of a sloop tied to the dock. He 
had a wooden leg, was weather-beaten, and hardened by 
time and rough usage ; yet, as he mended an old sail, he 
whistled cheerfully. While they watched the jolly old 
tar plying his needle, he looked up. 

The sailor at once surmised that they were from the 
interior. He smiled good-naturedly, and, in his character- 
istic manner, and invited them to come on board. For a 
moment the young men consulted with each other, and 
accepted the invitation. They walked the long plank, 
on which cleats were nailed as foot-holds, to the little 
vessel. 

“ She aint a very trim craft to invite gentlemen aboard,” 
said the sailor, “yit there is a smack o’ novelty even in 
dirt, which pleases some people.” Without rising from 
the stool on which he was sitting, he nodded toward two 
chairs, and the young men seated themselves. 

“ We understand the character of the vessel,” said 
Fred, “ and a coal craft could not be expected to be kept 
as tidy as a passenger steamer.” 


152 


CALAMITY BOW. 


“ O’ course not, shipmate,” responded the sailor, giving 
the quid in his jaw an extra turn. “ I must apologize 
fur my appearance, cause it’s nateral, though I be 
nuthin’ but an old salt. Fur seventeen years 1 ain’t been 
nuthin’ but old wooden-legged Jack Bolin.” 

The old sailor was garrulous, and the young men, who 
•were fond of yarn spinning, felt that they were in luck. 
“ I git tired lavin’ here and bein’ beat about like the 
breakers.” Jack continued, “ so I try to find some way to 
amuse myself. Do you believe, shipmates, in such things 
as men bein’ born to perform some mission ? ” 

“ I have sometimes thought so,” Horace answered. 

“ I’m about to solve a mystery,” said the old sailor in 
a whisper, “ and, as you young chaps look like ye might be 
honest, I’ve a notion to heave to and take ye into my 
confidence.” 

Fred and Horace were puzzled, hardly knowing what 
answer to make. They were too modest to urge being 
taken into the old sailor’s confidence, yet they were filled 
with curiosity. 

“ There’s somethin’ queer in this yarn o’ mine,” said 
Jack, mysteriously, “ but if ye’d like to hear it — and ’ll 
come down to my craft to-night after dark — I’ll take ye 
in the cabin and spin ye somethin’ what’s true. I’m not 
much given to tellin’ stories, and I never git outside o’ 
what I know. This yarn has a close bearin’ on my life 
mission. Will ye come ? ” 

Again the young men exchanged glances. 

“Don’t think I’m a nmllet-head,” said the old sailor, in 
a mysterious whisper. “ There’s more goin’ on aboard our 
own ship than we know about. I may need some one to help 
me git my bearin’s in this voyage o’ discovery, as I call my 
mission. When ye come, let it be after dark, and keep 
o, weather-eye on that old rotten hulk alongside, 


THE SAILOR'S YARN . 


153 


The sailor spoke in such an awe-inspiring whisper that 
Fred and Horace turned their eyes towards the hulk, half 
expecting to see some dark pirate craft loom up before 
them. But no sign of life was visible about the decaying 
barge. 

“ She seems all right enough now,” whispered the 
sailor, “ but she’s only a shark asleep. Come to-night 
and see her teeth.” 

This was sufficient to determine the adventurous 
youths. An interview after dark, full of mystery and 
adventure was not to be missed. They promised to be 
on hand at the appointed hour and left the sloop. 

Many were their conjectures as to the revelation. They 
waited with impatience the approach of night. It was a 
dark night, just suited to fill the minds of our friends 
with romantic ideas. They felt their blood tingling with 
curiosity and pleasure, in an adventure of which the 
result was unknown. They crept aboard the little coal 
sloop as stealthily as if they had been boarding an enemy. 

“ Come in,” said a hearty voice from within. They 
opened the door and discovered the old sailor seated by the 
small table, on which burned a solitary candle, reading 
an old Bible. He closed it, and laid it away as he con- 
tinued in his garrulous, cheery manner, “ Come aboard 
shipmates and stow yourselves away best ye can. Here 
are stools and chair3 ; we’re ruther close under hatches 
here, but we’ll manage to have sea-room I reckin’. Well, 
I’d about give ye up, and though it’s early, was goiu’ to 
turn in.” 

Horace said he supposed they were on time. 

“ It’s all right, shipmates, now that you are here,” com 
tinued Jack. “ I’m up for the next watch anyway. Yer 
■ee my mission, as I call it, keeps me on deck or cruisin’ 
about so much that I turn in at all hours, when there’s 


154 


CALAMITY ROW. 


nothin else to do. I promised to spin you a yarn.” The 
sailor who had risen to receive his visitors, now seated 
himself again, elevating his wooden leg to the table, and 
locking his hands behind his head. After a moment 
lost in gathering up the scattered fragments of his story, 
old Jack began : 

“ It’s seventeen years ago, the sixteenth day of last 
month, that I was one o’ a crew on a ship called the 
Ocean Star , bound from New Orleans to New York. 
It was in the autumn o’ 1865, and a great many discharged 
soldiers were aboard coming home. The ship made good 
time and entered the harbor. It was night when we 
came off Sandy Hook, and our pilot warned us to wait 
till morning, for a heavy fog had settled over the harbor 
and rivers so we could not see a cable’s length ; but the 
soldiers, who had been away four years, were anxious to 
get in that night ; wives, mothers and friends were waitin’ 
there for them on shore, and they swore they’d throw 
captain and pilot overboard if they didn’t go in. Every 
salt aboard knowed it would be dangerous to attempt to 
enter port that night, but we were overpowered by ex- 
cited soldiers. We steamed in as carefully as we could, 
soundin’ the whistle every few seconds. About a mile 
below T Governor’s Island, we were run into by a vessel. 
The crash and jar brought all off their feet. The poop 
deck tumbled in, and from the moment we struck the 
ship refused to answer to her wheel. The captain was the 
only man who seemed to have any sense. He made the 
engineer increase the speed so we could get as near the 
shore as possible before going down. I’ve been in many 
a squall, shipmates, and seen ships go to pieces on break- 
ers, but I never saw such excitement as was on that ship 
that night. Some jumped overboard, some climbed 
the masts, and the long-boat which was lowered was 


THE SAILOR'S YARN. 


155 


filled so full that it sunk. There were no other boats 
left and some tried to make rafts, but only a part ever 
got ashore on ’em. We gave signals o’ distress, and did 
everything we could to save passengers and crew. Our 
port quarter was actually stove in, and in five minutes after 
we struck the water in the engine room was waist deep, 
the fires went out and the engine stopped. 

“ There was but one white woman on board the ship. 
She was a young woman, a first-class cabin passenger, 
not over twenty years old and the mother o’ a bright 
little baby. I always clewed my affections to babies, 
and this little blue-eyed thing was so sweet and had so 
many pretty w r ays about it, that I would ’a died for it. I 
had often noticed the young mother, with her dark 
hazel eyes, and golden hair, on deck when it was fair 
weather. The black nurse was always near the mother 
with the baby in her arms. The little thing would crow' 
and clap its plump little hands at sight o’ the white caps. 
I thought o’ the woman and baby the minute the ship 
struck, and run to the passengers’ deck to find’em. They 
were in great danger o’ bein’ trampled to death. The 
men -paid no attention to ’em, and the colored nurse was 
layin on her face as good as dead. The young woman 
held the baby close to her breast beggin’ some one to 
save ’em. ‘ Come with me, madam, said I, and I’ll land 
ye safe an shore, or we’ll go to Davy Jones together.’ 
She believed me and put the baby in my arms. I tore 
off a state room door and went aft. There I found some 
line, and makin’ a runnin’ loop, I lashed the woman and 
child to the upper side o’ the board and lowered ’em to 
the water. I then slid down the line in time to keep 
the crazy craft from capsizin.’ It w r as so dark and foggy, 
you could not see an oar’s-length ahead. Steamers were 
fillin’ the harbor with screams, but none gittin’ near 


156 


CALAMITY BOW. 


enough to do us any good. They were deceivin’ each 
other — and there were other collisions. I begun swimmin’ 
with the woman and child on the door, tryin’ to push 
’em in. But the tide was agin me, and there was danger 
every minute o’ them bein’ washed off the raft. The 
woman was sensible, for becoming convinced we could 
never get a shore that way, she said. ‘Take my baby 
and swim ashore, you can save it ; but you’ll never get 
there with both of us.’ I’d already found that out, but 
hadn’t the heart to tell her so. Just at that moment I 
come to a stationary buoy and a plan came in my head. 
I made the door fast to the buoy, then had her lash 
the baby to my back, tellin’ her to stay on the door 
until I could come back for her. I’ll never foreret how 
the poor mother kissed that baby a long farewell, before 
I started away with it, and sobbin’ and beggin’ me never 
to desert it. I was more’n an hour makin the land, an 
came near bein’ run down two or three times by steamers, 
which couldn’t see or hear me, to pick me up. At last I 
landed at the battery and met an old woman named 
Nancy Gride. I gave her the half-drowned baby, and 
told her to take it at once to the Sailor’s Home and keep 
it till I come. I didn’t know the baby’s name. I did 
all I could in a minute’s time to urge her to take good 
care o’ the baby and keep it for me. Then with two o’ 
the river police I set out in a yawl to find the mother. 
The fog seemed to be thicker. Steamers were runnin’ 
wildly here and there, everywhere, tryin’ to help the 
drownin’ people but doing more harm than good. The 
river police were not as well organized then as now ; 
such a panic would hardly happen at this day. We were 
run down by a tug, and the two officers drowned. I was 
picked up insensible, with my leg so mangled it had to 
be cut off, and my side was badly crushed. For months 


The sailors yarn. 


15 1 


I lay in the hospital hovering between life and death, and 
unconscious o’ what had happened, for ray head had got 
a bad blow. It was a year before I left the hospital, 
then I set out to find Nancy Gride, but both she and the 
baby were gone. I’ve hunted for that old woman for 
sixteen years, and never found her till about three weeks 
ago—” 

“ Did you find the child ? ” asked both Fred and 
Horace, who had became intensely interested in the 
story : 

“No,” Jack, sadly answered. “She had put it in an 
Orphans’ Home, and somebody took it to raise. The 
asylum burnt up, and some one had stole the books. 

“The mother of the child, did you ever learn what 
became of her ? ” asked Fred. 

“ She was drowned o’ course.” 

“ Who was she ? ” 

“ I don’t know. No one ever will know, until the sea gives 
up her dead. But I promised I’d take care o’ her baby. 
It’s my mission on this earth to find it, and I’ll do it. I’ve 
got neither chart or compass to steer by, unless it be 
somethin’ I picked up from that old hulk alongside, I 
went aboard them the other night while it was dark and 
rainin’. They were talkin’ o’ books, and it seems it’s 
books they want to make money out of. They may be 
the books what was stole from the Orphans’ Home ten 
years ago, when it was burned. I want to see them books, 
but how’m I goin’ to do it, when sich land sharks hev got 
their clutches on em ? ” 

As much as the students were interested in the story, 
they were somewhat disaj^pointed in the denouement. 
They suggested many plans, but left without coming to 
any satisfactory conclusion. 


158 


CALAMITY ROW. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

A DAY AT THE EXCHANGE. 

“ Well, fellers, this is Saturday, ’n there aint much goin’ 
on ; ’spose we all go down to Wall Street,” said Tennessee 
to Fred and Horace, a few days after the events in our 
last chapter. Lunch was over, and they were sitting in 
Horace and Fred’s room. “ I’ve never been at that Ex- 
change, though I’ve heard so much an’ read so much 
about it, that I think its fine as silk. Next to the prima- 
donna. Let’s all go down.” 

Having put in a very laborious week at the college 
the students consented, on condition that Tennessee 
would agree to go on the elevated road, and as our rustic 
doctor had not overcome his dread of these aerial trains, 
it was no easy matter to come to their terms ; but finally 
he did. They ascended the broad, winding iron stairway. 
Procuring their tickets at the window from a sullen-look- 
ing man in blue coat, white cap, and brass buttons, they 
passed out at the gateway, dropping their tickets into a 
glass box, where another man moved a lever which 
dropped the tickets from the glass box into a wooden one 
below. Tennessee glanced uneasily along the tracks. The 
sun shone on the bright, glittering steel rails. The great 
cross pieces of iron and wood seemed strong enough to 
warrant a safe transit. A little engine with a train of 
four long cars, came puffing up to the depot. It was 
like the flight of a bird. 

The guards threw open the entrance gates of the cars, 
and sung out the number of the street. Our friends went 
aboard, gates and doors closed with a bang, and the train 
sailed away with an easy, gliding motion. The tops of the 


A t)AT AT THE EXCHANGE. 


.159 


houses could be seen on a level with the cars ; at times 
sinking below out of sight. They seemed borne by some 
winged monster through the air. Far below them they 
could hear the rush of business. To Tennessee they were 
constantly nearing that great blue vault which seems the 
limit of space. 

“ This is gittin’ up in the world, shore,” he said to 
Fred. “I jist feel as if the whole thing would slump 
through at any minit. Look at them houses and 
chimneys way down there, and see how fur we’re above 
’em. Jist think if we was to break through, how fur 
we’d hev to go.” 

“Don’t think anything about it,” said Fred. “We 
are getting along nicely. Its just as smooth sailing as if 
a big bird was flying through the air, with us in a 
basket.” 

“That’s so,” said Tennessee, wincing. “I feel that way 
myself, and all that makes me uneasy is that the bird 
might drop the basket.” 

Tennessee’s trepidation was about over when they 
reached the station where they got out and descended 
from their aerial train to terra firrna, and took their way 
to the Exchange. A somber-looking building, hemmed 
in so closely by other large business houses as to have a 
cramped appearance, loomed up before them. Even 
from the door could be heard the roar within. They as- 
I cended the broad stairway, and turning to the hall on 
the right, came to a gallery which overlooked the scene. 

What a scene it was ! A great hall, twice as long as 
wide, extended below them. On the left was a dais with 
a desk and three or four chairs. It seemed to be a speak- 
er’s stand, and a man was at the desk. Running almost 
entirely round the vast room was a rail, between which 
and the wall was a number of telegraph instruments. 


160 


CALAMITY MOW. 


with operators. The great oblong room was thronged 
with wild, excited men, young, middle-aged and old, who 
were shouting and screaming with all their might. Some 
were hatless, some coatless, while the faces of most of 
them were flushed with excitement. They stood about 
in groups and clusters of from three or four to hundreds. 
New groups w r ere constantly forming and old groups 
melting away. All was a confused babble of tongues, — 
a roaring sea below, not one word of w'hicli was intelli- 
gible to our three friends. The floor was littered and 
strewn with small bits of white paper that looked like 
huge flakes of snow. One middle-aged man had on a hat 
the crown of which had been completely torn out ; an- 
other had along rent in his coat. Four or five others in 
their wildest excitement had seized one and were tossing 
him up on their shoulders; and off to the right an old, 
gray-bearded man was dancing. There was less dignity 
and business appearance to the whole affair than at a 
schoolboy picnic. But that mad, wild, excited crowd 
w T ere handling a nation’s w’ealth. Notwithstanding the 
lack of dignity, it was business. Each minute’s transac- 
tions represented millions of dollars. 

Some of the brokers were beardless boys, who appeared 
as cool and shrewd as the older men. 

There seemed no method or reason for any of their ac- 
tions. A man suddenly broke away from a group and 
ran across the room holding his hand high above his head. 
A boy in gray uniform hastened to his side. He wrote a 
message on the small pad and the boy hastened away 
with it... Other messenger-boys in gray uniforms were 
running about, waving messages and telegrams above 
their heads, shouting the names of persons. No wonder 
all was noise and excitement, every moment was worth 
millions. 


A LAY AT THE EXCHANGE. 


161 


“ I say, fellers,” said Tennessee, after having contem- 
plated the scene several moments in silent wonder, “ ain’t 
we made a mistake?” 

“ I guess not — why?” asked Fred. 

“ We started to find the Stock Exchange, but I guess 
we’ve got into a lunatic asylum.” 

Several strangers who were near, laughed at Tennessee’s 
wit. The Southerner’s eyes fell upon a pale, haggard 
face in that excited throng which seemed lost in despair. 

“I say, fellers,” he said, nudging Fred in the side, 
“ there’s that same chap what we saw with the diamond- 
covered gal, our dewd, and the British dandy.” 

“Where?” 

Tennessee pointed him out. It was Mr. Edward Dar- 
lington, who had fallen into a cleverly set trap, and began 
to feel that it must prove his ruin. 

“Jay Gould shows his power,” said an old man at 
Fred’s elbow. 

“ Is he here?” Fred asked, hoping to get sight of him. 

“No, no; he’s not here, but his agents are. He sel- 
dom comes, but they’ve not downed him, and what’s 
more, they are not goin’ to,” said the smiling old gentle- 
man. “ Ed Darlington and a few others tried it on Trans- 
continentals, but I guess they are sick,” continued the old 
man, stroking his iron-gray beard. “ I never saw such 
excitement on ’Change as there was when Railway and 
Navigation began to jump up five to ten points at a 
time, and the buying in under the rule, of Northern Pa- 
cific commenced. It was a regular bear dance. You 
ought to have heard ’em squeal. Pandemonium has 
reigned with a vengeance ever since.” 

The excitement began at eleven o’ clock. Up to that 
time the market was dull and weak. The latest arrange- 
ment of the Oregon Transcontinental Company to secure 
11 


162 


CALAMITY BOW. 


money had placed the control of some shares in the hands 
of capitalists, among them the redoubtable Gould and 
Sage, both haying been short of these stocks. The sud- 
den financial strait of the Transcontinental company made 
it impossible to put the price up on them. The first 
thing Gould did was to crush Darlington, who was striv- 
ing to bear the market, and to force from him at a ruin- 
ous loss the Transcontinental stock he held. This was 
transacted by Gould’s agents, the world-renowned specu- 
lator not being known in it. It was all effected the day 
before. The sagacious speculator having accomplished 
that feat of financiering, was ready to show his hand. 
There was no longer reason to bear the market. To ad- 
vance his own securities and make the market steady, 
Mr. Gould found it necessary to help the Transcontinental 
out of the mire. At the opportune moment a proposi- 
tion was made him to join with other capitalists in a loan 
to the company, amply secured, and an option was given 
as a bonus which could be made to yield two or three 
millions profit. He agreed to cover his shorts and take 
hold. While his enemies thought they had him down, 
he, by the masterly generalship for which he is noted, 
covered at a good gain. The incautious shorts realized 
their situation when a call was made for loaned stock. 
Ed Darlington now met ruin face to face. Parties with 
whom he had deposited his loaned stock as collateral had 
taken the risk of lending it out, and upon the peremptory 
notification that the sums borrowed would be paid, and 
the stocks must be delivered, he was forced to go into 
the market and buy them in. He discovered there was 
very little for sale and none could be borrowed. Our 
young broker was really in a pitiable condition. 

“ What are you going to do, Ed ? ” a friend of his 
asked, when his condition became fully known. 


A DAY AT TUE EXGHAXGE. 


163 


“ I don’t know,” he answered, “ I am really at the old 
bull’s mercy, and I suppose he will gore me to death.” 

Darlington was forced to part with his Transcontinental 
stock. No sooner had he done so than it began to dis- 
play most wonderful acrobatic achievements. The day 
before he had been forced to sell at forty-five and fifty 
cents. On this morning it opened at eighty-seven and 
sold immediately at ninety four. In an hour it had 
jumped to one hundred and five and by noon reached one 
hundred and nineteen. If Darlington could have held 
his stock twenty-four hours longer his fortune would have 
been made. He would have cleared two and a half mil- 
lions at least. As it was he was being squeezed to death. 
Dizzy, haggard and confused, lie staggered away to a 
seat at the south end of the building. That uproar, which 
had once been music to his ear, failed to rally his droop- 
ing spirits. He was wounded, and had crept away from 
the conflict. Others might fight, but his blood was flow- 
ing, and he sought a quiet spot in which to die. 

a Have you been badly hurt?” asked a former friend, 
coming to his side. 

“I am ruined,” was the answer. “ We thought Gould 
on his back, but he only led us into an ambuscade, and 
I fell at the first fire.” 

“ Will you not be able to meet your obligations?” 

“ No — I’m five hundred thousand dollars worse than 
nothing, and shall be forced to give up my seat in the 
Exchange. If Col. Vanderburg had helped me out, we 
could have tided over, and cleared a million each. But 
his horses ran away, he was thrown out, almost killed. It 
hurt me worse than it did him.” 

“ Don’t be so down-hearted, old fellow ; there is luck 
for you yet. I understand you are to marry his niece 
and become his heir,” 


164 


CALAMITY BOW. 


“ I don’t know,” Ed answered, with a sad shake of the 
head. “That English earl has a better chance than I. 
A beggar with a title is preferable to a beggar without 
one. If he wants her, and I believe her four millions 
will attract him, he will carry off the prize.” Then, as if 
anxious to change the subject, he added, “ Gould now con- 
trols the Transcontinental. The company has sold him 
ten thousand shares at seventy-five, and thirty thousand 
Northern Pacific preferred at thirty-six, and thirty thou- 
sand common at sixteen. He has realized in two days 
two millions three hundred and ten thousand dollars, 
while I lost all I had, or could borrow, and much more 
besides.” 

“ What caused the great advance ? ” Darlington’s friend 
asked. 

“ The call for loaned stock started it. It was something 
I was not prepared for. I had so much loaned stock out as 
collateral, which had been re-hypothecated, and being 
forced to go into the market to buy it up, it caused a 
flood which drowned me,” said the ruined speculator, 
pressing his hands to his hot, aching temples. 

The clamor for Transcontinentals still went on. As the 
hours dragged slowly by, and the hands of the great clock 
on the east side of the hall neared three : the uproar be- 
came greater. Men with haggard faces and contracted 
brows, rushed hither and thither, screaming as though 
their lives depended on being heard. The lines of mes- 
senger boys in gray uniforms were pouring in at each door. 
The confusion increased with every moment. There was 
a great cluster about the post on which was marked Trans- 
continental. Shouting, screaming, and jeering went on. 
One man standing as high on his toes as he could, was 
waving his hand in the air and shouting something unin- 
telligible to our friends. Another, another and another 


A BAY AT TEE EXCHANGE. 


165 


hand went) up until it became a tempest of waving hands. 
They were jammed so close together, that one could have 
walked on their heads. “ Who is that chap settin’ down 
over thar?” asked Tennessee, pointing to Ed Darlington. 
“ I mean the feller close to the finger board that says 
‘ Transcontinental.’ He looks kinder sick.” 

The old gentleman adjusted his glasses, and after a 
moment answered : “ Oh, that is Darlington, a speculator, 
and he is sick. He is one who tried to form a syndicate 
to crush Jay Gould, but got himself on the wrong side.” 

“ He looks rather porely,” said the Southerner. “ Some 
o’ the others seem happy enough.” 

“ Yes, they are lucky ones. That man with the crown 
torn out of his hat, who has bawled himself hoarse, has 
made two hundred thousand out of Northern Pacific 
preferred, in the last four days. That old man you saw 
dancing made a hundred and fifty thousand in one hour. 
Now see that middle-aged man who is kicking the hat of 
another over the floor as if it was a foot-ball. They are 
partners who have made a cool half million on Wabash. 
Millions are made and lost here every hour. They some- 
times become so elated over their sudden good fortune, 
that they pull each other about and tear their clothes like 
a parcel of schoolboys. The Exchange is a wild place, 
but here you can study human nature.” 

The uproar was deafening. Sometimes it would gather 
in intensity until it burst forth in a terrible shout, making 
the great building ring from foundation to roof. 

“ It’s a dangerous place to do business,” said the old 
gray-haired philosopher who stood between Fred and 
Tennessee. “ A man gets so excited that he hardly knows 
what he is doing. Some of those fellows have no idea 
how deep they are involving themselves.” 

The Exchange hall seemed to grow darker every mo- 


166 


CALAMITY ROW. 


ment as the hour of closing drew nearer. Only one min- 
ute to three. That minute was worth millions. The vast 
crowd of speculators swayed back and forth like a dash- 
ing tide. The uproar and confusion before was mildness 
compared to the pandemonium which reigned now. Buy- 
ing and selling to the amount of millions went on every 
second. The man at the president’s desk rose with the 
gavel uplifted. The last second had come. What would 
some not have paid for one minute more ! But all their 
untold wealth could not purchase it. A swelling roar 
went up, through which could be heard the sharper ring 
of the mallet. One, two, three ! 

The effect was magical. At the last rap, every voice 
was hushed. Books were closed and those wild, excited 
men at once become sober shrewd financiers. They began 
filing away as rapidly as they could, and in five minutes 
after the last stroke of the gavel, the Exchange hall was 
deserted. Our friends made their way up the street, and 
boarding a car, returned. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

feed’s love. 

Fred Saunders had resolved to become a student, a 
philosopher, a traveler, perhaps an author. He was wed- 
ded to his books, and ignored society. 

Fred had always been stoical on questions of love. 
Had all the damsels of New York been similar to Miss 
Mary Sniffles, there is no doubt that Fred would have 
held to his position. But with Allie Gray it was differ- 
ent. She was not at all like the plump expressionless 
Miss Mary. Her shy, half-bashful, artless manner, was 


FEED'S LOVE. 


167 


decidedly winning to a sensible young man. Whenever 
he met her (and someway of late they frequently met), 
Fred found himself admiring her pretty face and figure. 
Her whole manner was marked by refinement and good- 
ness of heart which a life of vicissitudes could not over- 
come. In those large blue eyes, that intelligent face and 
clear complexion, he had seen her rich womanly nature. 

Love makes its own light, and even Calamity Row, 
with its gloom, its uproar, and its dingy buildings, raga- 
muffins and squalid misery, became the brightest sunshine 
for Fred. 

Fred had never owned even to himself that he loved 
Allie Gray, yet he felt that she must in some way know 
the truth which he. would not even admit to himself,, 
When soul meets soul, there is no pass-word, or sign, nor 
mysterious grip by which they are cognizant of each 
other. From the moment Fred had rescued the shop- 
girl from beneath the wagon, he felt himself irresistibly 
drawn toward her. He had admired her as an honest 
toiler in the dark little shop ; but when he saw her spread 
her wings as a ministering angel at the bedside of the 
wounded stranger, he felt that it would be no sin to love 
her. A spirit so pure — a soul so lofty, cannot be hidden ; 
in due time it will reveal itself. As for Fred, in his 
secluded scholarly life, and with his glowing fancy, he 
saw women either as heavenly visions, or as demons. 
There was no middle ground. She was either supreme- 
ly good or supremely bad. 

“I must be doing wrong,” Fred thought, as he came 
out of Mrs. Joyce’s shop, which he had entered on pre- 
tense of making some trifling purchase. “ I know I am 
doing wrong, why do I go there?” Perhaps within his 
breast he felt a twinge of conscience. Did he know that 
during the brief moment he bent over the counter, his 


i68 


CALAMITY BOW. 


eyes had spoken volumes ? It is true his lips had said 
nothing which would betray the secret of the heart, but 
his voice had a tender intensity which she must have 
felt. 

“ I am on dangerous ground,’’ soliloquized Fred, hasten- 
ing homeward, “and now the question has come whether 
it’s better to defy the world, or to tear out my heart and 
leave it behind me ? If I marry her I can never hope 
for her to enter the society which I desire for my wife. 
But could I not be happy with her? Would it not be 
enough to make us a world all to ourselves ? Fashion- 
able people will point to her with scorn and say: ‘ Who 
is she ? ’ ‘A shop-girl from the worst neighborhood of 
New York, — a foundling picked up from the gutter, by 
Fred Saunders.’ My friends will say I am mad. No, I 
cannot do it. Could I ask my mother to take such a 
woman to her heart and call her daughter ? And yet 
could a mother take a fairer, purer being in her arms? 
No, no, no ! " 

Had Fred been at home he would have done as a son 
should in such matters, taken his mother into his confi- 
dence and asked her advice. But he was in the city, 
with no friends, save the new ones he had made. 

It was a bleak Sunday morning. The snow began to 
fall in soft flakes and continued to come faster and faster, 
until the air was full, and a white winding-sheet en- 
shrouded the great city. Fred left his room, with a 
plan formed in his mind. He made his way to an office 
where messenger boys were furnished. Securing one, he 
gave him a note in a carefully sealed, dainty little envel- 
ope. The answer was to be brought to his room. When 
Fred came back he was nervous, and started at the 
slightest sound. He looked guilty ; he wanted to tell 
what he had done, and yet he dared not. The door- 


VntiD’S LOVE. 160 

bell rang and he started ; dreading and hoping he dared 
not say what. 

No tidings came for him yet, and he settled himself 
down to wait. Again the door-bell rang. Footsteps 
were heard in the hall. It was the light, almost noiseless 
tread of Mrs. Billington. Neither Tennessee nor Horace 
noticed the anxiety with which Fred listened to that 
footfall. She paused at the door and rapped. Fred 
rose hastily and opened it. 

“ A note for you, Mr. Saunders,” said his smiling 
landlady, bowing and handing him a dainty little envel- 
ope. The superscription was in a neat, lady-like hand, 
and Fred trembled with eagerness as he took it. Mrs. 
Billington retired with a knowing smile, and Horace and 
Tennessee were too busy to notice with what alternating 
hope and fear he took the missive, and hastening to the 
recess of the window, broke the seal. A sigh of glad re- 
lief escaped him as he read it again and again ; finally 
folding it, he placed it in the inside pocket of his coat, 
next his heart. 

The remainder of the day was spent by Fred in secret 
exultations and regrets. One moment he was the hap- 
piest mortal in existence ; the next he was plunged into 
the most miserable depths of despair. 

“I am a fool,” he said to himself. “I am infatuated, 
charmed, bewitched, dragged to my ruin. Ye gods, 
can I not break the spell? But it is not her fault. She 
has never tried to entrap me. It is fate, and surely fate 
would not place a deadly snare in my pathway.” 

After an early tea he went to Calamity Row. He 
entered Mrs. Joyce’s little shop and was invited by that 
lady into the little parlor at the rear. Here Allie met 
him. 

She rose with a smile of welcome, and extended her 


i?o 


CALAMITY LOW. 


hand to greet him. Never had he seen her so beautiful. 
Fred’s spirits began to revive. He blessed his lucky 
stars for having sent the note, and blessed them twice 
over that it was accepted. 

“It is very stormy, is it not, Mr. Saunders?” Allie 
asked, after they were seated before the cheerful 
grate. 

“ I believe it is,” said Fred, with delightful absent, 
mindedness. “ I was thinking so much about the com- 
fort of this parlor, that I took little note of the 
weather.” 

She fixed her large blue eyes on him for a moment, 
and answered : 

“Whatever attraction this poor little parlor may 
have, you cannot be permitted to enjoy them this even- 
ing. We have services at our church ; you have promised 
to be my escort, and I shall hold you to your bargain.” 

“ I supposed, as it is so stormy this evening, that you 
might forego church, Miss Gray.” 

“ The storm can’t be very severe, not to have made 
any more impression on you than it did.” 

Fred found himself cleverly caught and changed the 
subject. 

All through the conversation that followed there was 
a religious vein which makes woman lovely, even to an 
unbeliever. 

“ It is quite time we were going, Mr. Saunders. Ex- 
cuse me, while I get my wraps.” She rose, and lightly 
tripped away to an apartment still further in the 
rear. 

She possessed a girl’s youth and beauty, with some- 
thing of the charming wisdom of a matron. Her life had 
evidently not been all drudgery, for she had found time 
to improve her mind. She had a fair, if not an excellent 


P&titis LOVE. 


m 


education ; and some accomplishments of which ladies 
could not boast. When she appeared in a fur-lined cir- 
cular, jaunty seal-skin turban with veil gracefully wound 
round it, and the tips of the daintiest little arctics just 
peeping from beneath her skirts, he was sure she had 
never seemed so lovely. 

They went to church together, and I can hardly tell 
how shocked Mrs. Sniffles was to see the new member 
from Calamity Row, sitting by the side of that wealthy 
young man from the West. She nudged her husband, 
who was dozing at her side, and whispered : 

“ I told ye so! ” 

He repeated with owl-like gravity: “ Ya-as, I told ye 
so.” Miss Mary was indignant and sat with her fat 
arms folded across her breast, and her pug nose, lightly 
spattered with bran-like freckles, turned upward toward 
the minister. 

It would be needless to give an account of the return 
to that little parlor, which of late had become more at- 
tractive to Fred than the most palatial residence in the 
city. 

“ Will you come in and rest awhile ? ” asked Miss 
Gray, in a manner which Fred at one moment thought 
tenderness, and the next could only believe politeness. 
He understood little of women. His chief knowledge of 
them he had obtained from books, which is not so good 
an education as the study of people. 

They entered the little parlor, which they found 
unoccupied, and again seated themselves before the 
cheerful grate. An awkward silence followed. He 
fixed his eyes on her, and she permitted him to gaze a 
moment into her deep blue orbs. There was no boldness 
in her manner. 

“Do you like the city, Mr. Saunders ?” she asked, 


172 CALAMITY ROW. 

more to break the spell of his piercing eyes than to en- 
gage in conversation. 

“Not so well as the country; though I grow to like it 
more and more every day,” he answered absently. 
After a moment’s silence he added : “ I shall leave it 
sometime, never to come back.” 

She knew he was waiting for her to indicate regret, 
but she tried to appear unconcerned. If her heart had a 
secret she would keep it. Allie had been taught by a 
thousand examples coming under her own observation, 
that men are sometimes false, even laying snares for the 
feet of unwary young girls. The most subtle snare to 
entrap a maiden is her own trusting, loving heart. 

“ Will you not be sorry? ” Fred asked. She was too 
truthful to say no, and hesitated to say yes ; so she made a 
non-committal answer : 

“ Of course, Mr. Saunders, I always regret to have 
friends go away.” 

“Have you no preference among friends? Do not 
some stand ahead of others ? ” he asked. 

“ It is natural that I should have some more dear to 
me than others,” she answered in such an indifferent 
way that Fred was a little uneasy. He might, after all, 
be mistaken. It would be a pleasure to know she loved 
him, even though she could never be his wife. Cruel 
Fred ; — do you intend to break this poor girl’s heart in 
order that you may for a moment bask in the sunlight 
of her love ? After another short silence he said, in a 
strange, half-subdued manner : 

“ I desire to be reckoned among your best and dearest 
friends, Miss Gray.” For a brief instant a swift tell tale 
flush overspread her face, to be succeeded by a death- 
like pallor, while her large, blue eyes drooped beneath his 
earnest gaze. Fred’s words had not expressed so much 


FRED’S LOVE. 


173 


of his intense passion as the deep, tender tone of his 
voice. 

“One should have no special friends,” answered the 
girl, as soon as she could in a measure regain her com- 
posure. “ God has been so good to me, that I cannot 
but love all his handiwork, unless, by the arts of the Evil 
One, it has become so disfigured that the Master’s cre- 
ation has been destroyed.” 

“ You are a dear girl, Miss Allie,” cried Fred, seizing 
her hand with half-restrained enthusiasm. “ You are a 
saint, if in these modern days we are permitted to have 
saints. I, who have been reared by Christian parents, 
ought to hide my head in shame, when I contrast my 
poor, weak Christianity with your noble faith. From you 
I draw only inspiration for good. I could not have an 
evil thought in your presence. You seem to lift me from 
earth to heaven. I have doubted the authenticity of the 
Scriptures and the divinity of Christ, until 1 met you ; 
but I can never doubt again. ” 

She raised her eyes once more, letting him look into 
them, then she gently withdrew her hand. 

“ You must not talk that way, Mr. Saunders,” she said, 
and a look quite puzzling to him came over her face. 

Ten minutes later as he was on his way to his board- 
ing house, Fred cursed himself for being a fool, and wished 
that he had died before he sent the note. Love and 
misery are not strangers, yet Fred’s love and Fred’s misery 
were of an unusual kind. He was battling with pride, 
and when that contest was decided, his course would be 
clear. 


174 


CALAMITY BOW . 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

VAN ORDEN’s PLAN. 

Had Carlyle intended his description of a dandy for 
Harry Yan Orden, he could not have come nearer the 
life and intent of that young gentleman. He was “ a 
living martyr to the eternal worth of clothes.” 

He occupied one of the poorest rooms in Mrs. Bil- 
lington’s boarding-house ; though Sir Humphry Harrison’s 
was no better. Both were hall rooms, which could not 
be heated, and were but poorly ventilated. The two 
“ dewds,” as Tennessee termed them, frequently became 
cold, and intruded themselves on our student friends, 
who kept warm rooms. 

Had the fashionable public known their circumstances, 
it is doubtful if they would have been admitted into so- 
ciety. Van Orden had, in his small, uncomfortable room, 
a sample case of crackers and fancy cakes, which, during 
four days of the week, he carried about the city, taking 
orders from small retail dealers and grocery men, for a 
large city bakery. The manufacturing establishment 
allowed him a commission on his sales, and this was quite 
enough to keep an economical single gentleman. Of 
course, if he had been referred to as a cracker peddler, 
Mr. Yan Orden would have treated the matter as a joke. 
The fashionable world would have been horrified to know 
that Sir Humphrey occupied so mean a room in so cheap 
a boarding-house, and was a traveling salesman for a tea 
company. The merchants who bought of him never 
dreamed that they were dealing with an earl. It was 
certainly a strange freak on the part of the earl, and 


VAN ORDEN’S PLAN. 


175 


would have caused grave suspicions in the minds of the 
fashionable world, had it been known. But great men 
have their eccentricities, and if his lordship desired to in- 
dulge in a little harmless amusement, who could gainsay 
his right to do so? Van Orden was tolerated by the 
fashionable people on account of his long line of eminent 
ancestry. It has been hinted that family pedigrees can 
be bought, but we are not able to verify the assertion. 
Mr. Van Orden was losing his place in that social world ; 
but, as the most intimate friend of an English nobleman, 
studying American character, he hoped to assure his posi- 
tion in society for many years yet to come. 

On the same Sunday on which Fred was worrying over 
his love affair, Mr. Van Orden lay on the bed in his cold, 
cheerless room. He looked very blue for a fashionable 
gentleman. His head rested on the pillow ; and the 
straight parting in the middle seemed in serious danger of 
obliteration. He drew some bed clothing across himself, 
and put his hands underneath, to keep them warm. He 
did not make any complaint of the cold. He had always 
urged, as an excuse for a fireless room, that he liked cold. 
Fires were a bore, creating unhealthy air. The earl, who 
held a like opinion, sat in his room, similar to Van Oi~ 
den’s, with overcoat and gloves on, and yet hardly able 
to endure the cold. He rose and took several turns across 
the narrow apartment. 

These fashionable gentlemen had learned that those hard- 
working students did not appreciate their senseless talk, 
and so they refrained from entering the warm, cosey 
rooms, though their shivering bodies and aching fingers 
strongly tempted them to do so. The earl and Van 
Orden preferred elegance to ease, quite an essential ele- 
ment in the dandiacal body, and one for which Carlyle 
calls him a martyr. Misery loves company, and the earl 


176 


CALAMITY ROW. 


thought his friend’s room would be preferable to his own, 
where his breath formed a small fog cloud at each exhala- 
tion. He went to Van Orden’s room and rapped on the 
door. 

“ Come in,” answered that worthy from the bed, where 
he lay submerged in bed-clothes. Van Orden turned his 
head back and fixed his eyes on the door, which opened 
and admitted the earl. 

“ Oh — ah ! Sir Humphrey,” said Mr. Van Orden. 
“ Come in — this is really a pleasure — an exquisite pleasure. 
My room is a little cool, Sir Humphrey, but it’s more 
conducive to health. Ah ! really.” 

“ Hamericans are a bore,” said the earl, seating himself 
on a straight hard chair, folding his arms closely to keep 
warm. “ They want to swelter and roast like a vulgar 
blacksmith at his forge.” 

“ You and I, Sir Humphrey, are of different material ; 
we have better blood in our veins.” 

We do not know that the shrewd Van Orden really be- 
lieved that his friend was a nobleman, but he certainly had 
made others believe it, which answered his purpose as well. 
Yan Orden possessed a few simple qualifications essential 
to a society man. Fortunately for him, depth of brains 
are not required ; yet, Yan Orden was not a simpleton. 
He was shrewd and unscrupulous, or what the admirers 
of such traits call “ sharp.” 

“’Ow egotistical your Hamericans become. Hif they 
were honly in London a few days, I fancy they would ’ave 
some of the hegotism taken hout of them. That rude 
fellow from Tennessee, who butchers the Queen’s Henglish, 
is a desperado. He’s a bass ” 

“ Ah — yes, my dear earl ! ” said Mr. Yan Orden, draw- 
ing the bed covers more comfortably about him, while he 
watched the frosty breath which his friend emitted. “ He 


FRED'S LOVE. 


177 


is so rude — he lacks culture. They all do. The West is 
peopled with a class of savages little better — ah ! than 
the aborigines.” 

M ’Ad he not been desperate, hi would never ’ave suf- 
fered that hinsult about Bunker ’ill. The Henglish 
Ilarray and Navy are to-day the best in the world.” 

“ Ah — no doubt about it, Sir Humphrey. We are not 
at war with England, and, in fact, except with a few of 
those people who claim to be patriots, the war of a hun- 
dred years ago has been forgotten.” 

Van Orden upon the bed, the covers drawn across his 
face to protect his nose from the frosty air, while the earl, 
whose nobility may have kept his blood warmer, sat with 
stoical indifference. 

Mr. Van Orden had really conceived an idea. If it 
worked well, it promised to bring a golden harvest to 
himself and the earl. 

“Sir Humphrey!” he suddenly said, turning on his 
side and fixing his eyes on his visitor. Sir Humphrey, 
who had been gazing at the frosty window, now turned 
toward the bed. No part of Mr. Van Orden was visible 
save the top of his head, and the path running along the 
middle. 

“ Wouldn’t you like to be rich, Sir Humphrey?” 

“ It’s common with us hall to ’ave wisions of wealth, 
and wish ’em to be realized.” 

“You can, Sir Humphrey — ah — you can,” Mr. Van 
Orden suddenly declared, venturing to peep from beneath 
the bed-clothes at his friend. 

“ My friend,” said the earl, with as much the air of a 
nobleman as he could assume, “ I would be wery thankful 
if you’d point hout to me the steep and thorny path to 
wealth.” 

“ Ah — it’s not steep, my dear earl ; nor is it thorny,” 

12 


178 


CALAMITY ROW. 


said Mr. Van Orden, starting to a half-sitting posture and 
fixing his eyes on the cockney. 

“ What do you mean, Mr. Van Orden ? ” the pretended 
earl asked, in astonishment. “ You speak in riddles ; 
caw’nt you make yourself plain ? ” 

Mr. Van Orden got out of bed, made sure that the door 
was closed and no one listening in the hall, then return- 
ing, wrapped the coders once more about him, and in a 
low tone began : 

“ Suppose, Sir Humphrey — ah, only suppose, you know, 
that a young lady in Hew York really believed you to 
be an earl — ” 

“ Well, is not my huncle a hearl, and wont Hi be a 
hearl when he dies ? ” 

“ Of course — oh, of course — but you know your uncle 
may be only a great uncle with fifteen or twenty other 
heirs between you and this earldom. But — ah — you know 
now, dear earl,” his voice sunk almost to a whisper. 
“ Suppose she thought you as good as having your earl- 
dom in possession? How you understand — ah — dear earl 
— suppose this young lady was herself an heiress to three 
or four millions, which would be hers as soon as her 
uncle died, and suppose she would give her heart, hand, 
and fortune for nobility ? — ” 

He paused to let his words soak into the dull brain of 
the Englishman. 

“Ah — my dear earl,” continued Yan Orden, “I see 
that you hardly comprehend me. How, I know a young 
lady who is worth three or four millions, whom you, as earl, 
could marry. Your presumptive title would win her, 
and you could get control of her wealth before she dis- 
covered. — You could get absolute control of her fortune; 
how would you like it ? ” 

Mr. Yan Orden’s eyes sparkled with unusual brilliancy. 


FRED'S LOVE. 


179 


The Englishman, without drawing his benumbed hands 
from the pockets of his great-coat, asked : 

“ His she ’andsome ? ” 

“ Beautiful — perfectly beautiful. She is accomplished, 
a belle, and very rich. Now, mind you, Sir Humphrey,” 
he said, pointing his finger significantly at the earl. “ Sir 
Humphrey Harrison as earl, without a dollar, could win 
her ; but plain Humphrey Harrison with a million could 
not so much as kiss her hand.” 

Englishmen are proverbially slow at guessing, but when 
once they get at the thread of a mystery, with bulldog 
tenacity they cling to it, until it is solved. 

“ ’Ave Hi not seen ’er ? ” he asked. 

“Yes, — you have seen her and doubtless even now 
guess whom I mean ; but, Sir Humphrey, you can nayver 
succeed without my help.” 

“You ’ad just has well speak plain ; Hi know who you 
mean,” said the earl, rubbing his hands in order to get up 
a livelier circulation. 

“ Well, the young lady I mean is the wealthy Miss Van- 
derburg,” answered Ed Van Orden in a cautious whisper. 
“ She will inherit all her uncle’s wealth when he dies, and 
that will be soon.” 

“Isn’t she halready betrothed?” asked the Englishman. 

“ What does that signify ? ” asked Van Orden, retiring 
again beneath the bed-covers. “ She is not married, and 
she don’t care much for the man to whom she is engaged. 
The sooner she gets rid of him the better she will like it. 
Ah — Ave can push him overboard, and take you as a sub- 
stitute. Nyther he nor she would care much. If I do it 
for you, will you remember me ? ” 

The Englishman gazed stupidly at his companion for 
a few moments. His face showed that he was puzzled to 
comprehend the other’s meaning. 


180 


CALAMITY ROW. 


“ Understand me fully, Harrison,” said Van Orden, with 
more energy than he had previously shown. “ If I help 
you to four millions, I shall require one million for doing 
it.” 

What man, especially one as unscrupulous as Sir 
Humphrey, would object to this proposition ? He con- 
sented and they proceeded to mature their plan. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

HOW THE PLAN SUCCEEDED. 

Quite in contrast with the cold, cheerless rooms of our 
English earl and his American friend, is the cosey parlor 
of Miss Adelaide Vanderburg. The grate glows with 
generous warmth, and the lights and shadows play upon 
the crimson velvet carpets, while the frescoes, panels, 
and hangings give an abundant variety to the richness of 
the scene. Nothing seemed wanting to make Miss Ade- 
laide happy. True, she had heard whispers concerning 
Darlington’s recent losses ; but she gave them no thought. 
If he had failed, in all probability it would put an end to 
their engagement, for it was not intended that she should 
marry a beggar. Why should she care ? True, Darlington 
was handsome enough ; he was even tolerable in society, 
though by no means brilliant ; but Darlington a beggar 
would never do for her husband. She had been frequently 
at the bedside of her uncle, who was slowly convalescing. 
Mrs. Vanderburg could afford little of her precious 
time to her husband, though he was near death’s door. 
Miss Adelaide was alone in her boudoir when her uncle, 
pale and weak, came in, leaning on his cane. His face 
still bore its scars from the wounds he had received in 
the accident on Calamity Row, 


HO \E THE PL AH SUCCEEDED. 


181 


u Be seated, uncle. I am so glad to see you able to walk 
about,” said Adelaide, hastily folding a note she had 
been reading, and putting it into a small escritoire. 

“ I am not well, Ada ; but I have lain so long in my room 
that I thought I would come down. Is it a cold day?” 

“Very uncle, — -judging from the way people shiver and 
hold their wraps about them as they hurry along the 
streets. Sit down, uncle, I want to talk with you.” 

“ About what, child ? ” he asked, taking a seat on the 
sofa. 

Whatever were Adelaide’s faults, she had always been 
a friend to her uncle. True, the demands of fashionable 
life took her from him much of the time, but then 
her few visits were real gleams of sunshine to the poor 
forsaken old man living in his cold isolation from those 
who should have tenderly cared for him. There was not 
much concealment or beating about the bush with Ade- 
laide. She came directly to the subject on her mind. 

“ I want to talk with you about Ed Darlington, uncle. 

“What of him? You are engaged, I believe ? ” said 
her uncle. 

“We were — yes we are; but have you not heard of 
him?” 

“ I read in the papers this morning that he had got 
badly squeezed, in his loans and Transcontinental stock.” 

“ He is ruined, uncle. 

“Well, I don’t know. He has more lives than a cat, 
and like one, may fall on his feet yet.” 

“ But I was told this morning, by one who knew, that 
he has lost his place in the Exchange, and could not pos- 
sibly pay his debts. They say he is five hundred thou- 
sand dollars wore off than nothing.” 

“ That is serious, Adelaide.” 

“How, uncle, to be plain with you,” she said taking a 


iS'2 


CALAMITY' HOW. 


seat on a low ottoman at his side. “ ought I to keep my 
engagement with him ? ” 

“Do you love him, Adelaide ? ” 

“ I don’t think I do, uncle. I could not love any one 
without wealth or power. I will wed a millionaire, a 
lord, or nobody.” 

“If you do not love him, you should not marry him,” 
was her uncle’s response as he rose and left the room. 
There was something in her manner that was not congenial 
to the invalid, and he would rather be alone. 

When he was gone Adelaide walked to the bay window, 
where she stood gazing out upon the cold, frozen street. 
She did not shudder as she saw the poor half-frozen beggar 
on the corner. In fact the sharp contrast seemed to add 
to her own comfort and happiness. The door uncere- 
moniously opened, and Mrs. Vanderburg entered. There 
was a strange look in her eyes. She was not exactly 
angry, yet the reproving glance was full of bitterness. 
Adelaide met her gaze. Aunt and niece understood each 
other in a moment. 

“You heard what we said, aunt?” said Adelaide. 

“ Yes; and I hardly know whether I approve it or not 
Have you no compassion on Edward in his distress.” 

“ Yes, aunt ; but then I do not see that I am compelled 
to chain myself to his lifelong poverty, in order to make 
amends for his carelessness. 

“It may not have been carelessness,” said Mrs. Van- 
derburg, biting her pretty lip in vexation. “The wisest 
and most sagacious sometimes fail. Luck has much to do 
with it.” 

“ I don’t want to be on the unlucky side,” said Ade- 
laide, with a laugh. 

“ It is true that when one is on the decline all friends 
will desert,” said Mrs. Vanderburg. 


HO W THE PLAN StTCCEEPEI). 


183 


<c Oh, aunt Rosa, how strangely you talk. No one deserts 
Edward. Our betrothal was only a matter of business. 
The bankruptcy of one of the contracting parties dis- 
solves the partnership. You certainly would not have 
me marry him now ? ” 

Mrs. Yanderburg threw herself on the couch, and with 
her beautiful head resting on her jeweled hand, answered 
“ No, I can’t say I would. Your uncle is to blame. He 
should have loaned him enough to have carried him 
through.” 

“ But, aunt, you know uncle was down at the time from 
his hurt, and we hardly expected him to live,” said the 
niece, loyally. 

“ No, I suppose not. It was unfortunate,” and Mrs. 
Yanderburg sighed dismally. Adelaide started and fixed 
her eyes on her aunt, who turned away, and a moment 
later rose to leave the apartment. As she went out 
Adelaide gayly said : 

“By the way, aunt, Yan Orden and the earl are to call 
goon — I expect them every moment. I have a notion to 
try to capture Sir Humphrey. I should be a lady then, 
and that is certainly something worth trying for.” 

She paused in the doorway and turning her bewitching 
face a moment to Adelaide, said : 

“I believe you are capable of it. Marriage with you 
is no more than a business contract.” 

“ Was yours more ? ” This was a “ poser.” Mrs. Yan- 
derburg turned about and hurried away. Adelaide, 
laughed merrily and said to herself : “ She will not again 
mention business marriages. The law says marriage 
is a civil contract, and why shouldn’t one treat it accord- 
ingly. I for one am going to do so. I have beauty and 
wealth, but I want a title. I want to be a lady. Here 
is an English nobleman. He is not hideous by any means. 


is4 


CALAMITY JSOtP 


and is young. He hns, or soon will have, the title of earl. 
But he does not possess wealth, as I am informed by his 
most intimate friend, Mr. Van Orden. His ancestral estates 
are heavily mortgaged. He is an earl, but poor. He wants 
money and I want nobility. If we see fit to exchange, 
who can say it is not a fair barter? Surely not my 
aunt, who married dear uncle Robert to save her place 
in society.” 

There was a ring at the door bell. Of course it was 
the earl and his friend. An earl was coming, and one 
less haughty would have shown some symptoms of ner- 
vousness. Perhaps she reclined a little more gracefully 
as she awaited the denouement. A servant entered with 
the cards of Sir Humphrey Harrison and Mr. Harry Van 
Orden, on a silver tray. 

“ Show them up, Jennings,” said Miss Adelaide, with 
no more trepidation than if they were the most ordinary 
people in the world. 

A few moments later Jennings reappeared followed by 
two smiling young gentlemen dressed in the most approved 
fashion. Their hair was parted in the middle, and the 
mustache of one and whiskers of the other perfect ex- 
amples of care and taste. Each carried an eyeglass, 
and wore diamonds that seemed genuine. 

“Aw — Miss Vanderburg — ” said Mr. Van Orden, 
bowing very low at the entrance, “ permit me to con- 
gratulate you on looking splendid, ah — perfectly splendid. 
It is so cold, ah — and so disagreeable without, that one 
feels you know, ah — like entering another sphere to find 
you in this elegant apartment.” 

“Oh, Mr. Van Orden, be done with your nonsense,” 
said Miss Adelaide, with a pleasant familiarity. “ There, 
be seated while I shake hands with the earl.” She 
hurried to Sir Humphrey and grasped his hand so warmly 


SOW THE PLAN SUCCEEDED . 185 

that the Englishman felt his noble blood almost thrilled. 
She hoped Sir Humphry had been enjoying himself. 

“ Aw — now that’s just the way everywhere we go,” 
said Mr. Y an Orden “ It’s * the earl and Sir Humphry.’ 
4 How is your lordship ?’ 4 1 hope you are well, and favor- 

ably impressed with New York, Sir Humphrey ?’ while — 
ah — not more than 4 How d’you do, Van Orden, to me. I 
say it’s an outrage — ah and I protest against it, indeed I 
do ! The earl is everybody and I’m nobody.” 

Miss Adelaide was too busy attending to the comfort 
of the earl to hear Yan Orden’s complaints. An earl is 
such an important personage, and requires such a great 
deal of attention. When Yan Orden discovered that he was 
appealing to the air, he sat down in a studied manner. 

44 1 hope, Sir Humphrey, you have been well since I saw 
you ?” said Miss Adelaide, seating herself on the sofa at 
his side. 

44 Quite well, I thank you, Miss Wanderburg. I cawnt 
say that I like Hamerica. The people bore me with their 
stupidity. Hamericans are wery stupid.” 

44 Oh, I suppose so, to you who havo^been used only to 
the most aesthetic,” answered Miss Adelaide. She thought 
that he looked fatigued, and, after fanning him a moment, 
asked him, with one of her most bewitching smiles, if he 
would not have a glass of wine. 

44 ’Ow can I refuse when hasked by one so fair as your- 
self ? ” answered the earl. 44 Will you serve it right ’ere, 
with your own ’and ?” 

44 Certainly, Sir Humphrey, if it pleases you that I 
should do so.” She leaned over toward him, and her 
large, dark eyes were fixed on his face with earnest ten- 
derness. The earl, for once filled with compassion, said : 

44 Miss Wanderburg, Hi can say nothing against Hamer- 
ican women. Hif the men are bores, there are many of 


186 


CALAMITY BOW. 


the women who should be ladies. There’s one I’d make 
a duchess hif I could.” 

“ Oh, Sir Humphrey, do not flatter ; it is beneath the 
dignity of an earl.” She gracefully rose from the sofa ? 
while a soft tinge mantled her cheek. 

“Hi am not flattering you, Miss Wan derburg ; you are 
worthy to be a lady.” 

The blush deepened on her cheek ; she laughed gayly 
and left the apartment to bring the decanter and glasses, 
as she said, with her own hand. As soon as she was gone, 
the Englishman turned about, and looked at his American 
friend. Van Orden had only time to give him an approv- 
ing nod and whisper : 

“Very good, very good. Keep it up, Harrison, and 
you will succeed, ” when Miss Adelaide returned with 
a decanter of spalrking wine, which vied with her cheeks 
in color. 

“Now, Sir Humphrey, I will give you some of my 
uncle’s fine old port, which has lain away in the cellar for 
— oh I don’t know how many years.” 

She filled a glass and handed it to him. He held it a 
moment to admire the rich color, as it would not do for 
an earl to appear greedy. 

“ W’y, Hi declare, Wan Horden,” he remarked coolly, 
“ these Hamericans know ’ow to keep good wine. See ’o w 
it sparkles.” 

“Drink it, my lord, and I will give you more to 
admire,” said the beauty. 

Sir Humphrey was not hard to persuade, for he was 
thirsty. After pouring a second glass for him Adelaide 
remembered her other guest, and filled a glass for Yan 
Orden. They became merry. Adelaide was naturally 
vivacious ; the earl grew more talkative, and even came 
to tolerate “ Hamericans,” though he declared there 
Were many “hasses among them.” 


HOW THE ELAN SUCCEEDED. 


isr 


They succeeded so well that the earl asked to come 
next evening and take Miss Adelaide to the opera. It 
took the combined savings of both the earl and Van Or- 
den, with an additional ten dollars borrowed from Tenn- 
essee, to pay for the box at the opera, and the hire of a 
suitable carriage. 

“ Our funds are short,” said Van Orden to his friend. 
“ Make this courtship brief. You can propose to-night. 
Do it all genteely as an earl should. Be sure you go 
down gracefully on one knee. She will bear a good deal 
from an earl you know, ah ! Make short work.” 

“ Hi understand myself,” said the Englishman, “ Hi’ll 
be the haccepted of that girl to-night, or Hi’ll heat my 
’ead.” 

They ordered the carriage at a fashionable hotel, from 
which the earl took his departure. This was a cunning 
devise on the part of Van Orden. The public might be- 
come inquisitive as to the earl’s residence, and it was es- 
sential to their plan to keep Sir Humphrey Harrison and 
the traveling salesman separate and distinct persons. 

Sir Humphrey succeeded well that night. To become 
the affianced bride of an earl was glory enough for Miss 
Adelaide. When the nobleman went down on his knees 
with the grace of one born and reared in foreign courts, 
how could she refuse ? She did not appear elated. The 
joy and triumph of her heart must be concealed, for it 
was not becoming one who was to enter the splendid courts, 
of England, perhaps to know Queen Victoria herself, to 
show any undue elation. She even asked time to consider 
the earl’s proposition ; it was so sudden — so unexpected, 
and her heart was in such a flutter. But the earl swore 
he would never rise until she had accepted the heart and 
hand he offered. With native stubbornness the English, 
man pressed his suit. He knew delays were dangerous. 


188 


CALAMITY ilO U . 


With white lips and a voice that trembled, she answered : 
* Yes.” 

The earl seemed in ecstasies, and for some time held the 
fair creature in his arms, while they talked of queens, re- 
ceptions, gallant lords and fair ladies, courtiers and glit- 
tering splendor, until her poor little head was completely 
turned. 

That night when Sir Humphrey told Van Orden what 
he had done, that worthy adjusted his eyeglass and as- 
suming a business-like air, said : 

“ You did well, Sir Humphrey, now strike while the iron 
is hot.” Hurry-up the wedding. Let it be secret, you 
know — ah. Nobody but myself and minister present 
You will have a plausible excuse for a secret marriage. 
The desire of your uncle from whom you inherit your 
earldom, is, you know, that you should marry a marchioness 
old enough to be your mother. You detest her, but must 
not cross the old man, whose health is precarious, and when 
he is dead, Miss Adelaide shall be taken to England, and 
before the world acknowledged your wife. She will believe 
you, and you must get her fast before the bubble bursts. 
You know what I mean ? Now — ah — strike while the iron 
is hot !” 

The reader must give Mr. Van Orden credit for 
some villainous shrewdness. If left to himself the earl 
never could have succeeded in so bold a scheme. Next 
evening Sir Humphrey called on his affianced, and as gen- 
tly as possible broke the startling intelligence that their 
marriage must be secret. He gave plausible reasons, and 
though our heroine trembled at the step, there was some- 
thing in it which sounded so much like romance, that she 
felt elated when informed that the ceremony must take 
place within a few days. The elopement and the secret 
marriage would all smack of nobility, and when she was 


HOW THE PLAN SUCCEEDED. 


189 


the earl’s wife, and all the people came to know it, and 
read of it in the newspapers, what a buzz it would make. 
How envious the Takeall girls would be ; and as to the 
gentlemen who wanted her, — Darlington, the V ansnouts, 
Muttonheds and Soffellows, they would surely hang them- 
selves ! Adelaide consented to a secret marriage. 

“ Now, my darling, hit must be soon — -worry soon,’’ 
said her noble lover. 

“Next week is Christmas,” she whispered timidly. 

“ So hit is, let us be married hon the first of the new 
year. Will you consent to that?” 

She consented, and promised ])erfect secrecy. 

“ Were it known,” said his lordship, “it might cost 
me my hearldom. Though Hi care little for it myself, 
Hi want it to make this sweet flower w’ich Hi ’ave plucked 
from the new world, bloom and shed sweet fragrance 
in the court of our good queen.” His shrewder friend 
had put many of these fine words in his mouth. They 
were the chromo-lithography of sensational novels, which 
Adelaide thought original and exquisite. 

New-years-day was selected for their elopement and 
secret marriage, The earl took his departure. When he 
was gone, heartless Adelaide wrote a hasty letter to Mr. 
Darlington, and enclosing her engagement ring and costly 
presents from her former lover in a box, and wrapping it 
carefully, despatched it to him. She had doffed the old 
love and donned the new. Standing before her costly 
mirror she contemplated herself a few moments with 
infinite satisfaction, and murmured : 

“ Am I really to wed a lord, and be a great lady, — 
bloom and shed fragrance in the courts of the kings and 
queens of Europe ? ” 


190 


CALAMITY KOW. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

MISFORTUNES DOUBLING. 

Edward Darlington’s worst fears were realized. 
His misfortunes heaped on him, until he felt himself 
utterly crushed. His best friends became his enemies. 
In his days of prosperity, Darlington was tyrannical 
which made him both feared and hated. Now that they 
need no longer fear him, they were free to express their 
real feelings. He went on ’Change much as a man goes 
about places from habit. It was a custom he could not 
suddenly break. He heard the wild clamor and uproar, 
but no longer took part in the conflict. It was but the 
ghost of the former brilliant speculator come to haunt 
the spot of his former triumphs. He was deserted — ostra- 
cized by all. There were men there wild and excited with 
success and happiness. 

“ What, Darlington, you here yet ? ” asked a man who 
had formery been his warmest friend. 

“Yes,” he answered, with a wearied sadness. 

“ I thought you had to give up your seat ? ” 

“ I have.” 

“ But your real estate will do something toward a set- 
tlement ? ” 

“ It is all mortgaged.” 

“What?” cried the man, turning quickly upon him. 

“ Everything is mortgaged three times over.” 

“ Can’t you pay them ? ” 

“ No, — the property will not pay first mortgage.” 

His former friend cried with an oath : “ Why I just 
bought a ten thousand dollar mortgage on you ! ” 

“ First or second?” Ed asked. 


MISFORTUNES DOUBLING . 


191 


“ Second.” 

“ It is not worth a cent.” 

The speculator turned away with imprecations on Dar- 
lington’s head. The time was when he would not have 
tamely submitted to such insults, but he only smiled a 
desperate, sickening smile. 

“ Go, fool,— your day will come ! ” and rising left the 
place. Darlington was not one who could begin over 
again, when once down. He did not start at the foot of 
the ladder, and he could not go there now. lie had 
inherited a fortune from his father, and with it, a mania 
for gambling in stocks. 

But one hope was left Ed Darlington. It was that 
Miss Vanderburg would not forsake him in his misery. 
He tried to persuade himself that he really loved Adelaide, 
He had neglected his betrothed of late, but his manifold 
troubles and this ruinous crash would be an excuse. He 
entered his coupe and ordered the driver to take him 
home. 

“ I suppose it will be my last ride in my own vehicle,” 
he said, bitterly. “ Some infernal creditor will come 
clamoring after it, and I shall be forced to walk, or depend 
on a hired coach.” 

The coupe rattled on to his house, and he got out. 
It was an elegant brown-stone front, but he laughed 
mockingly as he ascended the steps. 

“It is mine to-day, but gone to-morrow, like every- 
thing else ; we are sure of nothing, save death. It is 
mine to-day, however, and I will make good use of it 
while I have it.” He went to his study. It was a 
wonder of costly elegance. 

“ All — all gone,” he sighed sadly, falling on a lounge, 
and burying his face in his hands. “I am a fool to give 
way,” he finally declared, straightening himself up, and 


192 


CALAMITY 110W. 


looking as if ashamed of liis weakness. “ It may not be so 
bad as I think. If Adelaide will stand by me I can 
doubtless get Col. Vanderburgto advance money enough 
to retain my home and set me up again in business. In 
a few months I could make a million or two and be all 
right. It’s only a squall ; I can weather the storm yet.” 
With an attempt at being his old self, he pressed the 
bell knob. A servant answered the call. 

“ Bring me a decanter of champagne and some glasses. 
I am as dry as a fish.” 

The servant brought the wine. Mr. Darlington was 
in the act of filling a glass, when there came a ring at 
the door bell. 

“ See who it is, Smith,” he said, not pleased at the 
interruption. The servant disappeared, and returning, 
said : 

“ If you please, sir, it’s the sheriff’s deputy, and he 
says he must see you.’’ 

Mr. Darlington turned a little pale. Things had been 
delayed too long, he thought, but he ordered the servant 
to bring the officer to his study. A moment later he 
came back with a red-nosed man, who had a large 
memorandum book and some papers under his arm. 

“ Oh yes, — this is Mr. Jones, I believe,” said Darling- 
ton, seizing the deputy’s hand.” I have met you before. 
You remember, perhaps, I was at your club once, and 
you made a speech a year ago at ours.” 

Of course, the astounded deputy remembered it. He 
was flattered that one should imagine him capable of 
making a speech. “ Smith, bring more wine and glasses,” 
said Mr. Darlington. “ I can guess your business, Jones. 
It’s disagreeableness may be obviated in this case 
Come, sit down, and let us tap a glass of wine before we 
proceed.” The deputy was not hard to persuade. The 


MISFORTUNES DOUBLING. 


193 


servant came in at this moment, with another decanter 
and glasses, which he placed on the center table. 
Though Mr. Darlington made a great pretence of drink- 
ing, he took little, while the deputy drank deeply. He 
seldom met with such a treat, and felt complimented. 
Not only one glass, but two bottles did he drain. They 
became very friendly, and sat on the sofa with their 
arms lovingly about each other, Jones swore he never 
had such a friend as Darlington. Occasionally the 
servants came to the door, but were driven away with 
curses. 

At last the deputy awoke to the realization of his 
duty. He got on his feet with some difficulty and in a 
maudlin voice stated his business. He had come to make 
a schedule of the household property under an execution 
against his dearest friend, Edward Darlington. 

“Ha, ha, ha ! why, friend Jones, that is useless ; ” slap- 
ping him on the back in a friendly manner. “Not 
necessary at all,” said Ed shrewdly. He was perfectly 
sober, though he had pretended to drink as much as 
the deputy. “Now listen to me, Jones. You know 
we are undying friends, and you do not think I would 
make a false statement to you, even to save my neck — 
do you?” 

“ No — course not,” answered Jones. 

“ Well I will go to-night and get the money to pay 
off those judgments. My intended uncle-in-law, old 
Col. Vanderburg himself is backing me, and he will 
advance all the money I require. Come to-morrow at 
one, and you shall have the last dollar your executions 
call for.” 

“ Fair’ nough — hie ! ” said the deputy, 

“ Will you do it?” 

“ Yes.” 

13 


194 


CALAMITY now. 


“Then good evening, — but stay, won’t you have 
another glass of wine before going ? ” 

“ Don’t— hie— don’t keer— ’f I— do,” answers the deputy 
bracing himself on his unsteady legs. 

The glasses were filled and drained to the health of 
each other and lifelong friendship. Darlington even 
followed the deputy to the street door, and saw him 
carefully down the broad marble steps. They shook 
hands again and the bankrupt smiled shrewdly as the 
drunken deputy staggered off, saying ; 

« G—g— good-night, Ed ! ” 

When Darlington returned to his room, he found a 
package. Opening it, it ho came to a small box. Some- 
what surprised he raised its lid, and found the case of 
jewels he had given Miss Adelaide Yanderburg. In the 
bottom was a folded note. He read it carefully and 
laid it down. It was the death-warrant of his hopes, 
and was as follows : 

“ Mr. Edward Darlington. 

“ You will not be surprised at the return of these presents. Perhaps 
in your straitened circumstances you will be glad to receive them. 
Your failure ends our engagement, for I could not marry a man 
without wealth or fame. It does not grieve me much to give you 
up, and I am sure that you will live over it. 

‘ Adieu. 

“ Adelaide.” 

Nine men out of ten would have torn the letter to 
fragments. He was not without his passions, though he 
was too shrewd to allow them to get beyond his control. 
He needed his wits more than ever. Overwhelmed by 
calamities, almost any other man would have been crush- 
ed. He had no friend to whom he could temporarily as- 
sign his property. He rose, took the jewels, put them in 
the elegant case and placed the case on the table. Those 
jewels were worth from three to five thousand dollars ; a 


MISFORTUNES DOUBLING. 


195 


considerable sum to many people, but to Darlington it 
was a trifle. He began pacing the floor. 

“ Misfortunes have doubled. This caps the climax. I 
can save only what can be carried away in eight hours.” 

He rung the bell and the servant appeared. 

“ Smith, how much do I owe you ? ” The fellow smiled 
and said he believed it was a month’s pay. 

“Ho, no, Smith, it’s more than that,” interrupted the 
master. The servant opened his eyes and gazed at Dar- 
lington as if he doubted his sanity. The servant himself 
concluded that it might not be enough. “I think, Smith, 
that I owe you and Johnson both two or three years’ 
wages. Now, I am financially embarrassed. I can’t pay 
you cash ; but if you and Johnson are willing to take a 
bill of sale of the furniture in this house, I will make it 
out at once. You had better go and hunt up Johnson 
and see about it.” 

For a moment Smith was stupefied with amazement, 
but gradually the truth began to dawn. The visit of the 
deputy sheriff, those legal papers, and the assurance 
that he would come back next day to complete some 
business, made it all quite plain to Smith. 

“ I suppose when you get able you’ll want to buy the 
things back ? ” 

“Yes, of course.” 

There was no need of any further explanation. John- 
son, the coachman, was hunted up and the whole matter 
made clear to him. In less than ten minutes Smith 
returned to his master, and said he had seen Johnson and 
it was all right. 

Darlington was still pacing the floor with his hands 
behind him. 

“ Can you find a notary ?” he asked of the servant* 

“Yes, sir.” 


196 


CALAMITY ROW. 


“Then bring one to-night by all means. Bring him 
within an hour, or it may be too late and you lose every- 
thing. I may change my mind, you know, and let you 
come in as common creditors.” 

Smith bowed and hurried away. While he was gone 
for a notary, Darlington called in Johnson the coachman 
and asked him how he liked the new arrangements. 

“Very well,” the coachman answered. 

The notary came and found Mr. Darlington alone. 
He had drawn up a bill of sale including all his personal 
property, and dated it three days back. The notary 
took his acknowledgment to the instrument, and went 
away. Furniture-wagons and trucks were running all 
night, and when the sheriff’s deputy came next day to 
execute his writ, there was nothing on which to levy. 
The house was empty and deserted, and he was forced to 
make his return nulla bona . 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

TFTK WONDER OF CHEMICALS. 

Jack Bolin grew very anxious to know something 
about the mysterious books of which the wharf-rats 
spoke. To find where the child had been sent, he must 
get the old books of the Orphans’ Christian Home. It 
was strange that the books should have been stolen, 
until he heard that it was done to cover up the 
scandal attending the putting of an unknown baby into 
the asylum. The record was fatal to some good char- 
acters, therefore the books were destroyed. Rumor 
said the thief who stole them was so closely pursued, that 
he put the books in an old bag with a heavy stone, and sunk 


THE WONDER OF CHEMICALS. 


197 


them in the river. The books were never found, and as 
the illegitimate child had disappeared oil the night the 
asylum burned, its parents were permitted to move in 
the best circles, without a stain on their characters. 

This had happened about ten years before the opening 
of our story, and five or six years after Granny Gride 
had placed Jack’s baby in the institution. 

The old sailor took very little interest in these rumors. 
In fact he not more than half believed them. They had 
no connection with his mission, further than as they re- 
lated to the missing books. If the books had really been 
dropped in the river, it "would be natural enough to sup- 
pose that these “ wharf-rats” should have brought them 
to the surface. Jack determined to know what their 
books contained, and though he could not play the 
detective himself, he procured a suitable colleague. Jaice 
was truthful and honest in his way, and believing him 
trustworthy, Jack made him partially acquainted with 
his mission. 

“Now lad, I want ye to lend a hand to an old salt,” 
said Jack. “ Where are ye goin’ to stay this winter?” 

“I don’t know,” Jake growled. “Jes ’bout where 
ever I get a place to drap down.” 

“ Ye ain’t got no bunk o’ yer own ? ” 

“Naw — got nuthin’. I sometimes go t’ the News 
B’ys’ Home, but oftener it’s t’ the station.” 

“ Well, I’m goin’ to lay in port fur a month yit, an’ ye 
kin sleep in my cabin. I’ll fix a bunk fur ye. I want 
ye to kind ’er lay on and off, and keep a weather eye on 
that craft. I must know somethin’ o’ them buks what 
they’ve got.” 

Jake gladly accepted the proposition, and that night 
smuggled himself aboard the little coal sloop. It was 
snowing ; the decks of both sloop and barge were carpeted 
with a soft fleecy coat. Jake decided to begin his detec- 


198 


CALAMITY ROW. 


tive work at once by shadowing the barge. For three 
consecutive nights he made no discovery. On the 
fourth evening, he observed the three dock-rats go 
aboard the barge. A snow-storm was raging, but Jake, 
wrapped in an old pea-jacket, crept aboard the boat, went 
softly to the rear cabin window, — the best point of ob- 
servation, — and waited, watched, and listened. Though 
he could hear but very little, he could see all that 
happened. 

A fire of fuel, filched from adjacent coal and wood 
yards, was roaring in the stove. The three dock-rats 
were sitting about it. Burke was the only one who 
was talking. 

“ I was jest sure when I found them buks that they 
were the bank-buks, fur which the reward was offered. Y e 
see we fished ’em up in an old bag, but it was so rotten 
when we got it to the top o’ the water, it tore open and 
some o’ ’em dropped back. We got out but one that 
time, but we kept hookin’ about and draggin’ up an’ 
down that part o’ the river ’till we got the other two.” 

“ What part o’ the river was it in ? ” Duno asked. 

“ Right close up to the Twenty-third Street dock in 
East River, jest back, ye know, where the tide whirls. 
The big buk we found last. We got it three or four 
days after we found the others. It was a hundred feet 
out toward the harbor from the first.” 

“ They mayn’t all be the same set o’ buks,” said Duno. 
“You didn’t get ’em all at the same time or place? ” 

“No, we got only one the first time, ye know. The 
bag busted open an’ let some other buks, with a big 
stun, drap back in the water. Then we hunted about 
with grab-hooks fur three or four days, pullin’ up all 
sorts o’ curious things, afore we got the others. Ye see, 
when we got the fust one, we wasn’t suspectin’ any 


THE WONDER OF CHEMICALS. 


199 


buks were there, an’ a hook got caught in the old bag 
they were in.„ When we pulled it up we thought it must 
be the buks o’ that bank that busted on Wall Street, fur 
which they’ve been offerin’ such a big reward, so we 
never stopped ’till we got the other two.” 

“ I don’t believe they’re all the same set o’ buks.” 

“Then they may be the bank buks yit,” remarked 
Burke, quite hopefully. 

“ The others may. The ship’s book may hev been 
drifted up there by the under-current o’ the tide, ye 
know, and then it wouldn’t be in a bag with a big stone” 

For some reason his face grew paler as he muttered 
the last words, and his voice sank to a whisper. 

“How’ll we find out what they are?” asked Burke. 

“ Didn’t you say you’d more chemicals for bringin’ out 
letters.” 

“Yes; when we got them buks, ye know, there warn’t 
nothin’ on ’em to read. I’d heerd ’bout a kind o’ liquor 
as would make writin’ that had faded from buks come 
back. Ye know they got Tom Mace fur forgery that 
way. I went to a druggist and got him to fix it up, as 
he said he knowed how, and you used part o’ it the 
other night.” 

“ Let’s bring out all the writin’,” said Duno. 

‘ All right, I’ll go and fetch the buks.” 

Duno watched him from the corners of his eyes, but 
with none of the horror he had felt at first. Burke de- 
scended the small hatchway at the rear of the cabin, and, 
a moment later, reappeared, dragging the bag behind him. 
At this moment a small face appeared at the aft window, 
and a j>air of shrewd eyes surveyed the interior of the 
cabin. Burke dragged the heavy bag with books in it 
across the floor, and took from it the largest, which had 
belonged to the ship Ocean Star. He laid it on the 


200 


CALAMITY BOW. 


table, opening it at the place where Duno had operated 
the other time. It had the Ocean Star heading. 

“Now I’ll git the kimicals,” said Burke. He went to 
a box, which, with shelves fixed in it, accommodated their 
poor housekeeping. On one of the shelves was a bottle 
and small brush. “ Here they are,” he said, bringing the 
required articles to the table and placing them by the 
book. 

Duno shook the bottle a moment and drew the cork. 
Dropping two or three drops of the liquid on the book, 
he began rubbing it over the page. After a few moments 
he paused to note the effect of his work. The effect was 
as magical as before. The page, before the application, 
was yellow, and even the rulings had disappeared, but, 
under the stimulating effect of the chemicals, every stroke 
of the pen came back once more. The hand that made 
those strokes had long years lain beneath the waters, 
with sea-weeds and waves for his winding sheet ; but his 
resurrected work stood out for future generations to 
read. 

“ What is it?” asked Burke, as he saw Duno reading 
the reproduced writing. 

“ It’s the date o’ weighin’ anchor at New Orleans,” that 
individual answered. 

“ I remember well when she sunk in the harbor. There 
was a fog, and she was just cornin’ into port with a lot o’ 
discharged soldiers. It was ’bout the middle o’ October, 
’65. What’s the date o’ weighin’ anchor?” 

“It says, ‘Sailed October the 2nd, 1865,” said Duno. 

“ Guess that ’ud make it about right. They may hev 
had contrary winds and lots o’ fog. Only a few got 
ashore to tell the tale after the ship went down. What 
else is on that page ? ” 


THE WONDER OF CHEMICALS . 


‘201 


“ Officers and Crew.” 

“ Read ’em,” said Burke. 

Duno read : 

“Silas Mandel, captain; John Farewell, first mate; 
Abel Meeks, second mate. Crew: Jack Bolin, Henry 
Mercer,” and he continued to read a list of names, giving 
all the crew down to the cabin boy. 

“ Anything else on that page ? ” asked Burke, eagerly. 

“ Ho.” 

“ ’Spose ye try next ? ” 

Duno applied the chemicals, and, after a moment, the 
head-lines stood boldly out. 

“List of Cabin Passengers.” 

Although Burke had been disappointed in the book not 
belonging to the collapsed bank, he had grown interested 
in these discoveries. As for Pyke, he smoked, with very 
little interest in the affair. 

“ ’Spose ye bring out the passengers’ names, and we see 
who they were ? ” said Burke. 

Duno swept his brush down the yellow page; pale 
lines, dots and graceful curves appeared. 

“ How read ’em,” said Burke. 

“ Albert Lennox, residence, Boston, embarked Hew 
Orleans, October the 1st, 1865, state-room 87. John Rose, 
Albany, state-room 16; Josiah Mangrave, Jersey City, 
state-room 23 ; Oscar C. Middleton, Rochester, H. Y., 
state-room 102,” and he completed the column. 

“Is that all?” asked Burke. 

“Ho; here’s some women, though not many,” Duno 
answered. 

“Read ’em,” said Burke. 

Duno proceeded : 


202 


CALAMITY BOW. 


“Mrs. Aurelia Vanderburg, wife of Col. Robert Van- 
derburg, New York City, and her infant daughter, Alice, 
and colored nurse Delilah; embarked at New Orleans, 
October the 2nd, 1865, state-rooms 206 and 208.” 

“Why, that was the first wife o’ old Col. Vanderburg, 
the rich old chap. Well, he’s got ’nother, so I reckin it 
don’t make any difference. How many more women 
were aboard ? ” 

“None in the cabin.” 

“ Mebbe there were some among the steerage passen- 
gers ? ” 

Duno put a few more drops of the liquid on his brush, 
and was about to apply it to the blank yellow page, when 
he detected a noise at the cabin window. 

“What’s that?” 

“ Nothin’,” Burke answered, looking carefully around 
him. Pyke got up, his pipe still in his mouth, and went 
to the window. 

“ Some one was lookin’ in the winder a moment ago,” 
said Duno, trembling. 

“What if they were?” said Burke. “We’nt stole 
nothin’, and no one’s cornin’ here to steal nothin’. 

Duno was too nervous to go on until search had been 
made. To humor him, Burke seized a heavy stick and 
went out on deck. A terrible snow-storm was raging, 
and the deck of the old barge was covered. The night 
was dark and wild. The wind howled about Burke and, 
after trying for a moment to face the tempest, he re-en- 
tered the cabin, swearing it was the wind. 

Duno, thus assured, proceeded with his work. He 
brought out and read the entire list of steerage passengers, 
several hundred in number. 

There was not a woman or child among them ; doubtless 
they were discharged soldiers. 


OLD JACK AND TILE BOOKS. 


203 


Pyke resumed his seat and smoked his short pipe. 

“ This book’s no good to us unless we kin sell it to 
some one who lost somebody,” said Duno ; 44 but may be 
the other books are not the same. They may be the bank- 
books after all.” 

44 That’s so ! ” cried Burke. Running his hand into the 
old bag, he pulled out a second book, not quite so thick 
or wide as the first. “ Try that stuff on this,” he said, 
laying the book down on the table before Duno. 

The impromptu chemist carefully opened the badly de- 
cayed volume at the title-page, and, saturating his brush 
with the liquid, deftly passed it over. Burke bent over 
and watched him with the deepest interest. 

44 It’s the ship’s log-book, ain’t it?” he asked. 

44 1ST — no — ” Duno answered mysteriously. Suddenly 
uttering a horrible shriek, he sprang to the farthest 
corner of the cabin, clapped his hands over his eyes, and 
yelled : 

44 Oh God, take it away ! — Throw it in the sea ! — burn it ! 
For God’s sake git it out o’ my sight ! ” 

Burke gazed at him in wonder, but Pyke sat and 
smoked in apparent unconcern. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

OLD JACK AND THE KOOKS. 

Jack Bolin was sitting in his small, dark cabin. The 
storm still howled about the sloop, and the snow had 
covered the deck a foot deep. By the constant creaking 
of cordage and fastenings, the sloop threatened to break 
her moorings. The wind whistling through the rigging 


204 


CALAMITY HOW . 


of the ships, the creaking of cordage, and dash of waves 
were enough to fill the soul of the stoutest with awe. 
The line of barges, sloops, brigs, schooner, and ships, 
on each side of the dock, were dancing on the waves, 
creaking, pulling, grating, and groaning. 

Jake paused at the door of old Jack’s cabin, and cast a 
glance into the wild night. He loved the wild scene 
about him. There is something in the awful which 
charms though it chills us with terror. Those great 
vessels, bounding, pulling and straining like captive giants, 
to break the hawsers which held them to the pier, added 
to the terrors of the howling storm. 

Jake did not pause long at the cabin, but pushing it 
open, entered. Old Jack was sitting in darkness ; for he 
had not dared to light a candle lest it might betray his 
secret. 

“ Come here, lad,” he said in a whisper. Don’t run 
afoul the stove. There’s a stool on my larboard ; now 
sit down and tell me what you know.” 

Jack answered : 

“ I raley don’t know what I know.” 

“Ye don’t ? Well ye’r a curious kind o’ a landlubber. 
Tell me what ye saw and heerd. ” 

“I kin tell what I saw, but it’s precious little as I 
heerd. The storm howled ’bout me wi’ more racket 
than ye ever heerd on Calamity Row. I tuk a place at the 
winder o’ the cabin, jest as you told me to, and tuk in 
the sitewation. There was Pyke doin’ nothin’ but smok- 
in’, and Burke doin’ all the talkin’, and Duno all the 
listenin’. I got one or two words about buks. Then 
Burke went b’low in the hatchway and brought out a 
bagful. He tuk out wan an’ put somethin’ on it, an’ 
letters an’ words seemed to grow out o’ the pages. 

“ They seemed to be readin’ wan fur a long time, then 


OLD JACK AND THE BOOKS. 


205 


tuk up another. They put some o’ the stuff on it an’ 
Duno began to read, when all to onct he seem to hev 
seed a ghost. He screamed and started back, and yelled 
until Burke tuk all them buks, chucked ’em in the bag 
and put ’em down in the hold.” 

J ack Bolin had been listening very attentively, evident- 
ly puzzled at the boy’s discovery. 

“Ye couldn’t git under the lee o’ their cabin, and work 
in near enough to catch the drift, could ye ?” 

“ Naw, Jack,” answered the boy. “It wa’nt no use. 
I did scroudge down purty clus onct, when Burke he came 
out wid a gret big billy, ready to fire it at me. The snow 
had covered up my tracks, and Burke had to turn roun’ 
and go back in the cabin. I waited there ’till I knowed 
I had everything that ’ud be o’ use to you, and come 
away. The buks are there.” 

“Yes, but you don’t know what they are?” said the 
old sailor. 

“ Naw, I don’t know nuthin ’bout ’em. The wind kept 
up sich a thundering noise, I couldn’t hear nothin.”’ 

How could he lighten the mystery which overshadowed 
the books ? At last Jack said : 

“Jake, can ye get them books?” 

“ Git them buks,” repeated Jake, with a grin. “ Now 
yer talkin’. Guess I kin.” 

“ Without bein’ seen ? ” 

“Ye bet I kin.” 

“ If any o’ them land sharks came on you, they’d carry 
you by the board.” 

Jake turned his eyes on the sailor, and said : 

“ They’d not ketch me.” 

“Jake ; I’d like to hev them books. I don’t want to 
keep ’em — I jest want to look in ’em, that’s all. In each 
old hulk there may be a secret worth a mint of money.” 


206 


CALAMITY IiO)V. 


They both lapsed into silence. The old sailor, with 
bowed head, was lost in thought. Within his heart there 
was a monitor that urged him on to the fulfillment of his 
life’s mission. He felt that he could not lie quietly in his 
grave with that solemn obligation unperformed. After 
a long silence Jack came back to the subject. 

“Jake; I want them books.” 

“ I’ll git ’em.” 

“ You understand, now; if they catch you at it, it may 
git us both iu trouble.” 

“ Yes.” 

“ If you could bring ’em here, an’ let me read ’em, an’ 
then take ’em back next day- ” 

“I kud do’t,” answered Jake, quickly. “T’morrer 
they’ll b’gone, an’ I’ll g’down the hatchway an’ git’m. 

Old Jack retired to his bunk, and Jake, accustomed to 
all sorts of beds, drew two chairs and a stool before the 
stove, stretched himself on them, and was soon buried iii 
slumber. All night long the storm roared, and cordage 
creaked and groaned dismally, while the long rows of 
ships on either side of the pier bobbed up and down in 
the darkness. The noise without did not disturb either 
the sailor or the outcast, who slept the sleej3 of innocence. 
The fire in the little stove burned to glowing coals, and 
then, for a long time, retained its steady heat. Then the 
coals began to fade, and the pale, fitful blazes of gas, 
which sometimes shot upward, became less constant. 
The snow crept through the cracks, forming little ridges 
on the floor. The warm air was driven in nearer and 
nearer the stove, surrounded and pressed in by its enemy. 

The cold wave of air has reached the boy lying on the 
chairs. It assails him, and pierces his thin rags like a sharp 
dagger. But Jake is almost invulnerable to cold. He has 
lain on the streets so long, and been subject to such 
severity of weather, that he seems comfortable. 


OLD JACK AND THE BOOKS , 


207 


The dark night glided away, and when the gray streaks of 
dawn had driven out the shadows, old Jack awoke with a 
start. The first object he discovered was the boy still 
sleeping on the chairs, though the room had grown 
severely cold. 

“ Blow my eyes ! ” cried the old sailor, rubbing that 
portion of his anatomy, “ if tjiere don’t lay that little land- 
lubber in the cold, when he might ha’ had a bunk as well 
as not.” He rose and stirred up the coals, which had 
hidden themselves in fright beneath a mass of j^ale gray 
ashes. Seizing a shovel, he threw on a few shovelfulls 
of coal, and, shaking out the ashes below, it was not long 
before the whole was in a bright blaze. 

Jake awoke, and washing his hands and face, helped 
old Jack get breakfast. At noon he saw the three occu- 
pants of the barge leave it and go off up the dock. The 
storm had passed ; the sun shone bright and warm, and 
the snow was fast melting from the decks of the vessels. 
Jake sauntered over the side of the sloop to the barge, 
and when no one was watching him came to the companion 
way. It was locked, and though he could easily have 
forced it open, it was no part of his plan to do so. 

He sauntered around to the rear of the cabin, and, going 
up to the window, looked in. The window moved on a 
slide, and the “ wharf-rats ” had neglected to fasten it. 
Shoving it back, he crept in upon the table, and noise- 
lessly dropped to the cabin floor. Closing the window 
behind him he listened for a moment, and, lifting the trap 
door, descended into the hold. A moment later he 
emerged with the bag of mysterious books. He was 
trembling with anxiety and eagerness, for he knew his 
punishment for this crime would be very serious. The 
sloop’s stern was almost against the barge. Jake swung 
the bag from the stern of the barge to old Jack, who was 
looking out aft of the sloop, and Jack caught it. 


208 


CALAMITY ROW. 


Jake, with some trepidation, hurried on board the sloop 
himself. 

“ Guess I’ll g’up town. Don’t think sea air ’grees with 
me,” he said. 

“Well, Jake ; I don’t know how I’m to git these back 
to port when I’m done readin’ em,” answered the old 
sailor. 

“ Oh, ’f they don’t raise row ’bout it ’n a day or two, 
I’ll come ’board ’n take the buks where I got ’em. But 
I guess ae cops ’ill be smellin’ round ’fore that time.” 

“ I don’t know,” said Jack, shaking his head dubiously. 
“ Maybe they didn’t come by ’em honestly, and they’ll 
her to keep such a weather eye out fur their own keels, 
they’ll not have time to watch anybody else.” 

Jake bid the old sailor an unceremonious adieu, and 
went away. Jack did not dare open the books until late 
that night, and he kept them carefully concealed. When 
night came, he darkened his windows and locked the door ; 
then laying the largest book on the table, opened it. He 
was astounded when the name of the “ Ocean Star ” 
met his gaze on the first page. Had the spirit of the 
drowned captain suddenly risen before him, he would not 
have been more astonished. He rubbed his chin with 
his left hand, while he fumbled in his jacket pocket with 
his right, for his spectacles. 

“ It’s the old book,” he said almost sadly. “ I’d know 
it in any clime or weather. It’s the clerk’s book o’ the 
Ocean Star. I guess the others are the captain’s log 
books. I’m on the wrong track after all, but I shan’t 
grumble at meetin’ an old friend on a stormy sea.” 

He slowly read the name of his ship, wrecked so many 
years before. On the next page were the names of 
officers and crew, his own among the others. There was 
many a long forgotten messmate on the list. When he 


OLD JACK AND THE BOOKS. 209 

saw the name of J oe Long, with whom he had sailed so 
many years, he j>aused, wiped his glasses, and sighed : 

“ Well, Joe, we’ve taken many a cruise on sea and 
land. No better messmate ever went down with his 
ship.” His eyes -wandered over the list of passengers 
until they lighted on the name of Mrs. Amelia Yander- 
burg, wife of Col. Robert Vanderburg of New York, and 
her infant daughter Alice. “’Blow my eyes ef she ain’t 
the woman,” cried Jack. “ She’s the mother o’ the poor 
baby. Lemme see, were any more women aboard ?” 

He carefully searched the entire book, and closing it 
that with a sigh, said : 

“No, — she and the baby and nigger were the only 
females. How well I remember that child, and how it 
clung to old Jack’s hair as he swam ashore. That baby 
is somewhere, and I may find her a father in this port. 
Oh, if I could only find her, then old Jack could ship fur 
other shore where he’ll be at rest !” 

After many sighs, Jack rose, and hobbled to the other 
books, and taking one, spread it out on the table. The 
pages were a yellow blank. He was not astonished at 
this, for Jake had told him that the letters were faded 
away, and required some kind of liquid to bring them 
back. 

Laying this book aside, he took up the third. Opening 
it at the first page, he bent over to spell out the heading, 
and uttered a shout of joy. Before him was the book of 
the Orphan s’ Christian Home. 

The remainder of the page, not having been anointed 
with the stimulating chemicals, was blank, but Jack could 
get that wonderful mixture and restore the writing. 
Clapping his hands in glee, he danced about on his wooden 
leg, crying : 

“ Oh, blow my eyes, — ain’t this a jolly day for me ! My 

mission’s a’most done ! ” 

14 


2X0 


CALAMITY HOW. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

THE SECRET MARRIAGE. 

Christmas passed like a gay dream to the expectant 
bride. By advice of the earl and Mr. Van Orden, she 
went a great deal into society. Never was Adelaide 
Vanderburg more beautiful. The bare name of noble- 
man is a passport to the confidence and hospitality of 
the best families, and too often, as in the case of Sir 
Humphrey Harrison, it gives a currency to the worthless. 

What American could have imposed on our intel- 
ligent community as this dull adventurer had ? Although 
Van Orden was shrewd enough to plan and conduct the 
fraud, he never would have succeeded in the execution. 
It required one from that small island across the sea, to 
assume the role of nobility. Miss Vanderburg was happy 
in the thought of her coming nujitials, but it was only 
the joy of triumph. There were the Takeall girls who 
would barter twenty years of their existence to be called 
“ lady.” There was Mrs. Lillie Bunkles, the gay young 
widow who had taken the fashionable world by storm, 
she would be willing to suffer cremation for the honor. 
It had always been Adelaide’s ambition to be the wife of 
a lord. 

The earl had made her no presents as yet, not even a be- 
trothal ring. As their marriage was to be kept secret it 
would have been bad policy for her to wear a be- 
trothal ring. He promised her jewels in abundance 
when they went to Hengland. 

“Lady Harrison,” she said, as. she stood before the 
mirror in her dressing room, turning from side to side to 


THE SECRET MARRIAGE. 


211 


get a better view of herself. Now she adjusted this side 
of her dress, and then that, and turned about, admiring 
its fit and the plumpness of her shoulders. Mist-like 
sleeves which covered her arms, seemed only to reveal 
their roundness and beauty. “ Lady Harrison, — oh, it 
will really be true ! ” and she stood on her tip- toes and 
looked over her shoulder in the glass to get a view of her 
back. “They’ll open their eyes. Won’t it be a nine 
days’ wonder when it all comes out ! ” 

She walked off a few paces, then stopped, placed her 
arms akimbo, tip-toed and turned about, and tip-toed 
again, alternately examining each side. Although her 
maid had dressed her with the utmost care, for it was 
the first day of the new year, she had determined to crit- 
icise herself and had dismissed her. There could hardly 
be a more beautiful bride. Her dress w r as white satin 
brocade, square cut corsage, trimmed with Spanish lace 
draperies. In front was a row of glittering pearls. She 
wore, a diamond necklace, and a bouquet of orange flowers 
pinned at the left side of her waist, which, with a cluster 
of precious stones in her hair, gave richness and splendor 
to her beauty. Her little feet were encased in the most 
delicate white slippers. She was dressed for her wedding. 
Having admired her costume to her own satisfaction, she 
reclined gracefully on an easy cushioned chair. 

“ I ought to tell uncle,” she said to herself in a half 
remorseful manner. “I ought to tell both. This is 
treating them with disrespect. An elopement, — for it is 
nothing less — and they are kind in their w r ay. But no ; 
he commanded me to keep it a profound secret, and I 
will not disobey my husband, the earl. How grand it 
sounds, — my husband, the earl. Uncle and aunt will 
forgive me when they learn I have married a real live 
earl.” 

r~- 


m 


CALAMITY HOW. 


She rose, trying to believe she was happy. The basest 
of deceptions is when we try to deceive ourselves, for 
within there is ever a witness to the lie. 

While the bride-elect sits in her boudoir on this New- 
vear afternoon, with the house closed to all callers save 
l he earl and Yan Orden, let us for a moment look after 
the bridegroom. He is in his small, cold room at the 
end of the hall, and has just attired himself in his best 
raiment. His dress is superb, of the finest broadcloth, 
“ swallow-tail ” coat, low cut vest, and tight fitting trous- 
ers. His broad shirt front glisten’s white, and sparkles 
with diamonds so like the genuine as almost to deceive an 
expert. The Englishman’s hair was combed and puffed, 
and a broad path ran up the center. His whiskers were 
brushed and perfumed until he thought he must in reality 
be an earl. A great question had arisen which neither 
he nor his friend could solve. They could raise, as a joint 
fund for the occasion, only twenty-five dollars. Fifty 
might suffice, but twenty-five would not. They must 
have some money immediately. The earl dared not 
draw on the funds of the heiress before she was his 
wife. 

44 Oh ’ow vulgaw,” said his lordship, biting his hand- 
some lip with vexation, “ to think a nobleman should be 
so hembarrassed for money on ’is wedding day.” 

44 I think we can borrow some,” said Van Orden. 

44 From ’oo ? ” 

44 From that doctor called 4 Tennessee 

44 Well,” said his lordship, with a sigh ; 44 Hi don’t care 
to hassociate with such vulgaw people, but if you can suc- 
ceed bin negotiating a loan with ’im I’ll not hobject.” 

Mr. Yan Orden ran down the stairway to the floor 
below, on which was Tennessee’s room, rapped, and was 
admitted. Never did a more smiling face greet the South- 


THE SECRET MARRIAGE. 


213 


erner. He shook his hand, and sat down for a moment’s 
social chat. Then he jumped up, ran and closed the door 
and came back, taking a seat still nearer, chatting pleas- 
antly, and then got up and poked the fire, asking Tenn- 
essee if he was not cold, and paid more than one nice com- 
pliment to the Southerner. The doctor, surprised, laid 
aside the book he was reading, and fixed his dark brown 
eyes in astonishment on the man before him. 

“ By the way, my dear Dr. Stonebeater,” he at last 
said, having sufficiently prepared his victim, “ I have a 
small favor to ask of you.” 

“ Wall — what is it ? ” asked the Southerner, taking his 
feet from a chair, to elevate them to the table. “ I ’m 
allers willin’ to do ’most anything to help people.” 

“ I knew you would,” said Mr. Yan Orden, with a little 
laugh. “ Nyther my friend nor I doubted that you 
would. I have learned if you want an accommodation to 
go to a Southern man. They are so warm-hearted. But 
oh! for Gadsake deliver me from a cold blooded North- 
therner.” 

“ Ef ye’ 11 tell me what ye want, Mr. Yan Orden, I ’ 11 
be shore to tell ye whether I kin help ye or not. 

“Well, Mr. Harrison is about to get married, you 
know, to a wealthy young lady in the city — ” 

“ Say, feller, — is it that gal with fat arms and shinin 
diamonds, what I saw ye with at the Opera ? ” 

‘ c Yes — yes,” answered Yan Orden, uneasily. “Ahem — 
yes — she is very wealthy.” 

“What on airth is she gwine to marry him fur? ” 
“Love of course, — love at first sight. You know Har- 
rison is a fair representative of a noble Englishman, and 
he’s such a fine-looking fellow, that he carries the hearts 
of the young ladies by storm — ” 

“ Wall, she’s a drivin’ her ducks to a pore market, shore. 


CALAMITY HOW. 


214 

I don’t keer though. ’ Taint nuthin’ to me. Does he ex- 
pect to keep her in shinin diamonds and silks by peddlin’ 
tea over town ? ” 

“ Hush-sh ! ” whispered Van Orden in a little flutter of 
alarm lest his friend’s occupation should become kuown 
to the fashionable world. “ That, you know — ah ! was 
only a joke. My friend Mr. Harrison will be above that 
to-morrow.” 

“Wall — n — no; I don’t think a man kin git above 
honest work o’ any kind, but I don’t know ’bout a tea- 
peddler marryin’ a millionaire.” 

“ Where they really love each other, doctor — where it 
is an affair of the heart, what difference does it make?” 
said Mr. Van Orden, in an earnest, soothing manner. 

“Hone ez I kin see — if it’s all squar’ an honest. I 
think Harrison’s a sorry stick at best ; but if that gal’s 
fool enough to want him, I ain’t got no objection.” 

Mr. Van Orden hardly knew how to proceed. But 
desperate cases require desperate treatment. Something 
must be done, and be resolved to launch at once into the 
subject. Plucking up his courage he finally broke forth. 

“ To-day is Harrison’s wedding-day, Doctor, and he is 
short of money, and it’s caught me short too. We want 
twenty-five dollars.” 

“ I’d think ye’d be bringin’ back the ten dollars ye bor 
rowed o’ me a month ago, afore ye come back to git 
more,” said the bluff Tennesseean. 

“ Oh, my Gad, Doctor ! ” cried Mr. Van Orden, holding 
up his hand in a deploring attitude. “ You don’t know 
how much I regret not being able to repay you — but — 
ah-really, you know, this is so sudden upon us, you know. 
My friend is in real distress. His wedding-day has come, 
and I have promised to stand by him, you know. If you 
would only let us have twenty-five dollars, we’d both sign 


THE SECRET MARRIAGE. 


215 


the note, and to-morrow we’ll get the bride to sign it too.” 

“ No you won’t,” said Tennessee, heartily disgusted. 
“ Here’s the money, and I want no note, for I never ex- 
pect to see a dollar o’ it agin. I would n’t go back on a 
nigger if it was his weddin’ day.” He took from his 
purse the requisite amount and putting the money in 
Y an Orden’s hand, said : “ There, take it an’ go ; if it helps 
bring misery to a Vanderburg, its money well spent.” 

With many smiles Mr. Van Orden left. 

At dusk a close carriage drove up to the mansion of 
Col. Vanderburg. Mr. Van Orden sprang out and hasten- 
ing up the steps to the great front door, rang the bell. 
It was answered by a servant in livery. 

He waited in the parlor. A servant carrying a lady’s 
square dress-trunk on his shoulder passed down the hall 
and out at the door. Others went by with trunks and 
traveling bags. They kept still tongues in their heads. 
The luggage was put in a wagon which stood just behind 
the carriage. In her boudoir Miss Vanderburg was pen- 
ning a note to her uncle and aunt, a duty which her con- 
science had at last forced her to perform. This done she 
gathered up her jewels, and stuffed her porte-monnaie 
with bills which her uncle had given her that morning ; 
a sight that would have delighted the earl and Van Or- 
den. 

In a few moments, wrapped in seal-skin and furs, she 
descended to the parlor. The dainty silk arctics con- 
cealed the delicate white slippers, and her jewelry case, 
and porte-monnaie were hidden under her cloak. She 
was conducted to the carriage where sat the earl, gloomy 
and sullen. The carriage rattled away and the wagon 
with its baggage followed. 

In the suburbs of the city, at a small church, the car- 
nage halted. The occupants got out, and silently entered. 


216 


CALAMITY ROW. 


A minister was there. It was now dark, and a solitary 
gas jet near the altar, dimly lighted the vast apartment. 
The trembling bride wondered whether romances of this 
character would pay. A somber and seemingly prophet- 
ic gloom pervaded the farther end of the chapel. Those 
deserted pews, dark aisles and pillars, all looked terrible 
in their solemnity. Poor Adelaide felt as if she was 
under the influence of some awful spell. The hand which 
clasped hers was so cold it could not possess any love. 
She was sacrificing herself to her ambition, and she little 
dreamed what the nature of that sacrifice was. 

The minister wore a long white beard. He read some 
passages from the Bible in a deep solemn voice, which 
scarcely reached her deadened senses. Through all the 
ceremony she acted like one in a dream. They left the 
church and she found herself crossing Hudson river, and 
entering a railroad depot. Twenty minutes later, the 
pretended earl and his deceived bride were aboard a 
fast train bound for Chicago. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

“ A MODERN INSTANCE.” 

Fashionable society was shocked at news of the elope, 
ment and marriage of Miss Adelaide Vanderburg. At 
first, people were not certain with whom the deluded 
girl had eloped. They could only surmise from recent 
attentions of Sir Humphrey Harrison that it was he. 
When it was too late, society discovered it had been 
imposed on. The pretended earl was only an advent- 
urer, an English cockney, whose vulgar manner’s and 
uncouth language ought to have betrayed him. It wag 


“A MOD A HA 1 ASIA ACE. 


21 1 


only the hallcuination of nobility which blinded people. 
Society has been guilty of many blunders, but seldom of 
one greater than this. 

Lord Soffellow was still in New York, and was appeal- 
ed to when the question of Sir Humphrey Harrison’s 
title to nobility was under discussiou. He took the trouble 
to write to the earl whose nephew Sir Humphrey 
claimed to be, and received a cable dispatch in reply that 
the man was an imposter. But the mischief was done 
and could not be mended. The villain had captured one 
of the fairest belles and richest heiresses in the city. 
Col. Vanderburg took the matter much to heart. Ade- 
laide was the only representative of his family. Alone 
in his room he shed bitter tears over her awful fate. 

There was one desperate man who heard of the elope- 
ment and secret marriage with infinite satisfaction. It 
was Darlington, her ruined and discarded lover. All the 
bitterness in his soul was roused against the beautiful 
being who had forsaken him in his adversity. The 
tongue of scandal had ceased to prate of his downfall, and 
this new sensation was seized upon with avidity. He 
was among the first to learn that the earl was a fraud. 
In the mean apartment to which his straitened circumstan- 
ces forced him, he lay upon the couch kicking his heels 
against the wall and laughing with intense delight. 

“ Ha, ha, ha, ha ! it was for this tea-peddler she dis- 
carded me, was it ? ” he cried, throwing away the morn- 
ing paper which contained the latest account of the 
affair. 

Mr. Darlington read all this with grim satisfaction. 
In his soul he detested the ruined girl. The enterprising 
reporter had not been able to ascertain the whereabouts 
of the bride and groom. Mr. Van Orden not having 
been seen since the elopement, it was supposed that he 


218 


CALAMITY BO IF. 


had accompanied the runaway couple, and that he and 
Harrison were reveling in the luxuries that the well filled 
purse and jewels of the bride could procure. 

“ She has chosen — ha, ha, ha ! — the fool ! ” said Darling, 
ton, “ chosen a tea peddler. Oh I wish I could see her 
in her humiliation ! I should gloat over her downfall as she 
gloated over mine. I hope the proud old gouty uncle is 
miserable. He deserves to be for allowing me to sink, when 
he could at any time have put out his hand and saved 
me.” 

These gloomy reflections recalled another matter to his 
mind. That matter was a source of consolation to him. 
He had received comfort from but one person. He took 
from his coat pocket a dainty envelope addressed to him- 
self in a ladylike hand, and drew therefrom a perfumed 
missive. This he received a few days before, and if it 
had quickened his pulse and flushed his cheek no one had 
been the wiser. He read it now for perhaps the twen- 
tieth time : 

Mb. Edwaed Darlington. 

Dear Friend,— Do not be cast down. The whole world has 
not deserted you. I will ever be your warm friend in adversity as 
well as prosperity. 

“ Rosa V.” 

The sight of the missive put a new idea in his head. 
He went on linking idea to thought until he had evolved 
a new plan. It was nothing uncommon, in fact it was a 
frequent modern instance, one that is likely to occur as 
long as villainy and folly clothe themselves in a semblance 
of respectability and power. 

“ Others have done it in desperate straits, and why not 
I ? Men have fled from shame and financial disaster with 
wealth and beauty before. In fact it is the modern idea 
to take advantage of a woman’s weakness and vanity. I 
will do it,” 


"A MODERN INSTANCE.” 


1210 


He drew a chair to a cheap stand, and taking from the 
drawer some note-paper, drew his fountain pen, and 
wrote the following lines : 

Dear Rosa V. — In my loneliness and misfortune it is sweet to 
find one heart true. I must have your sympathy, I must be with 
you and gaze in your eyes again. If you can pardon this over- 
flow of the heart’s warmest affections, and will grant me an inter- 
view with you, I can explain what I mean 

Your loving friend , 

Edward D.” 

“That is putting it rather strong,” he said, with a 
chuckle, “ It will be a tester. If she grants the interview, 
then I’m not mistaken — I can go on ; or, if she flies up, she 
can’t hurt me.” 

Sealing the missive, he addressed it to “ Mrs. Rosa 
Vauderburg,” and not daring to trust it to the mail, de- 
spatched it by his faithful servant, Smith. 

“ It is done,” said Darlington, throwing himself on the 
couch ; “the ball has been set in motion for a desperate 
game, society mocks me in my misery and laughs at my 
ruin ; but I shall be revenged on society. I know it is 
wrong, but I am desperate. It will be no more than a 
score of bank cashiers have done in the last dozen years.” 

Smith came back and awoke Mr. Darlington from a 
pleasant nap. He rose with a smile, rubbed his eyes and 
yawned as though about to engage in the most honorable 
and agreeable business, and took the answer from Smith. 

“ That will do, Smith,” he said, “ you can be excused 
for the present. Remember, Smith, — ” and laying his 
finger alongside of his nose, Mr. Darlington smiled and 
added, “mum is the word.” 

Smith nodded and disappeared. Then Darlington 
opened the dainty envelope and drew out the missive. 
It was brief, but beyond a doubt was all he could desire. 


CALAMITY HOW. 


228 

“ I am lonesome now, and would be glad to have your company. 
I will be alone in my parlor this evening. 

Rosa.” 

“ It works like a charm,” he said, with sardonic satis- 
faction. “Yes, I’ll give the papers a new sensation. 
They spent three weeks on my ruin, and three more on 
Adelaide’s elopement with the tea-peddler, — now they 
shall have a whole month to digest a well-regulated 
scandal.” 

He was in high glee. His keen eyes sparkled with 
more vivacity than they had since his Wall Street down- 
fall. That evening he went plainly attired, in order to 
excite the sympathy as well as admiration of the beauti- 
ful though foolish woman. 

Critics blame novelists for drawing such characters as 
we present in this chapter, and still they require of us a 
certain degree of realism. These characters and inci- 
dents exist in the warp and woof that go to make up 
the stories of human existence. Somewhere, either in the 
background or by-play, they directly or remotely form a 
connecting link in the story of almost every life. Blame 
such characters and unpleasant incidents, but not the 
author. 

A faithful domestic in the confidence of her mistress 
admitted him, and he was conducted without ceremony 
to Mrs. Vauderburg’s private parlor. His only friend 
and sympathizer was there to meet him. She grasped 
his extended hand and they were soon engaged in alow 
and earnest conversation. They sat before a cheerful 
wood fire. He sighed and looked melancholy, and she 
poured out her warm and not unwomanly sympathy upon 
him. One, two hours passed, and they were still alone. 
Sometimes the conversation lagged, and then an awkward 
silence fell on both. He sat gazing into the fire and she 


22i 


“A MODERN INSTANCE/' 

tapped her small foot on the carpet. He was gathering 
up his courage for a fearful leap. It would seal his doom 
let the decision be either way. At last she broke the 
silence : 

“ What will you do, Mr. Darlington ? ” 

“I hardly know,” he answered; “two paths are before 
me. One is bright and full of happiness; the other, 
filled with gloom and despair. Shall I tell you what my 
visions are ? ” he asked, gazing fixedly into the fire, as 
though he saw them there. 

“ Oh, do ! ” she cried, laying her small hand on his 
arm, while her large, soft eyes met his. 

“ I see before me a path which leads across the con- 
tinent, over rivers, mountains, valleys and plains, to the 
land of gold and of promise. I could go there — I could 
live there, in opulence and happiness. But there is an 
obstacle. That obstacle is, that the only friend , that, dur- 
ing my darkest hours, whispered a word of comfort in my 
ear, is now tied down to a crabbed, crusty old miser, 
whom she cannot love. I see myself with her, flying 
away to this new and delightful world. Now we have 
reached the land of gold. We have a happy home, and 
grow rich and powerful. 

“ The other vision represents a scornful refusal. There 
is a dark pier in the background. A body is floating 
away from it — drifting out to sea — ” 

He paused, and looked at her. Her eyes met his. 
Oh, the strange, startled look! Would she assent, or 
would she refuse ? She cast a frightened glance toward 
the door. 

“We are alone,” said Darlington, interpreting her 
thoughts, and hoping to alleviate her fears. She turned 
her white, beautiful face upon him. He met her with 
an irresistible gaze. 


CALAMITY ROW, 


i‘22 

“You understand me, Mrs. Vanderburg?” he whis- 
pered in her ear. “You know full well what I mean. 
Now, once and for all, do you assent? We are past the 
time for child’s play, and lovers’ nonsense. Will you 
make the leap ? ” 

There is always a nervous horror about the first sin. 
The first step in any crime is taken with a great deal of 
fear and trembling. This was not only a step — it was a 
leap down into a great dark abyss. Suffice it to say, that 
Darlington went away from the Vanderburg mansion, 
smiling in triumph. He would succeed. 

Two weeks later Mrs. Vanderburg gathered up all 
her jewels, and with a large amount of cash taken from 
the husband whom she was wronging, eloped with Mr. 
Ed Darlington. The detectives traced them to Omaha ; 
but there lost the trail and were not able to hear of 
them again. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

THE BETROTHAL. 

To turn the gaze from the shame and false love-making 
of Adelaide Vanderburg and the pretended earl, or the 
criminal attachment of Darlington, to the honest, pure 
love of Fred Saunders, is like turning the eyes from per- 
dition, to the abode of the blest. He did not think his 
parents would approve of his marriage to a girl, be she 
ever so lovely, that knew nothing of her parentage. 
Her birth, to say the least, was suspicious. What was he to 
do ? There were the old obstacles, which incessantly 
occur in heedless attachments. His position in life — 
the prejudices of the society in which he moved — his 


THE BETROTHAL. 


228 


dependence on a parent who might prove proud and un- 
yielding— all forbade him to think of matrimony; but 
when he looked down upon this innocent being, so ten- 
der, shy, and confiding, he saw a purity in her manners, 
a blamelessness, and a beseeching modesty in those 
lovely blue eyes, which touch his manhood. Fred be- 
came restless ; he lost that ardor as a student which had 
placed him foremost in his class. He would wander 
about Calamity Row for hours at a time, in the hope of 
catching a glimpse of that being whose purity and gen- 
tleness had won his soul. 

Fred had entered the little shop several times of late. 
The weather was delightful for January, and he seemed 
to take great pleasure in wandering past the little es- 
tablishment on Calamity Row, and frequently dropping in 
on one pretext or another. This time he wanted to pur- 
chase some trifie, but he knew his real object was to feast 
his eyes on the lovely face and figure of the shop-girl. 
She was on this occasion dressed more simply, and yet 
seemed more charming, than usual. Pier dress was a del- 
icate dove-gray serge, made plain, with very little orna- 
ment or trimming. Her golden hair hung loose in wavy 
masses about her shoulders. The slight flush of pleasure 
at sight of Fred, almost betrayed a secret dearer to her 
than life. She heaved a sigh a moment later, and wished 
he was away. Mrs. Joyce, misinterpreting Allie, made it 
■j convenient to be in the rear apartment so that they might 
be alone. Allie had thought much on the subject which 
had grown vital to her, and resolved to treat Fred with 
coolness, much as it pained her heart to do so. 

“ What do you wish to purchase ? ” she asked in a 
cool and business-like manner. Pie turned his eyes full 
upon her, and there was a gentle rebuke in that look of 
pain. For a moment he struggled with himself, but love 


%2i CALAMITY ROW. 

gaining the mastery over pride, he said, in a very gentle 
voice : 

“ That green tie if you please.” She put her small fair 
hand in the show-case and brought out the green tie 
which she proceeded to wrap in paper for him. Fred 
never stood on questions of price. The whole affair w r as 
so cool and business-like that Fred grew cool himself. 

“ Is there anything more ? “ she asked, in a business- 
like manner. 

What a world of meaning she had unknowingly em- 
bodied in her short question. He was almost staggered 
at the significance of the query. Ilis answer involved 
eternal weal or woe. He had reached that strange turn- 
ing-point in a man’s existence where a word will echo a 
lifetime. If he said no, and went away, he should never 
perhaps see the face of the being wdio had been so attrac- 
tive to him. He hesitated a moment, when the truth, like 
a gushing fountain, voluntarily asserted itself. 

“Yes, Miss Gray, there is something else,” he said. He 
spoke so earnestly and yet so tenderly, that Allie lost 
her self-control. She flushed and paled, trembling so 
violently that she had to lean against the counter for sup- 
port, and began nervously folding down plaits in her 
clean white apron. She dared not risk herself to ask him 
what. The moment her eyes met his, they drooped be- 
neath his earnest gaze, and a gentle flush bloomed in her 
face. He bent over the counter and almost whispered in 
her ear : “ Yes, there is something else I want. I want to 
talk with you — I must tell you something. When will you 
be disengaged, some evening — when I can come ? ” She 
could only stand with downcast eyes. 

He repeated his request, and urged her so strongly that, 
bewildered and confused, she whispered : “ Hext Monday, 
-r-half-past eight,” 


THE BETROTHAL. 


22 & 

It was sufficient ; Fred was gone. The die was cast, 
and his fate sealed. Society, position, and every other ob- 
stacle had been swept away by one resolution. His mother 
would forgive him, and if his father removed him from 
college before he received his degree, he could work with 
•* his hands. 

No sooner was he gone, than Allie came out from the 
spell his presence had produced. Had she detected her- 
self in crime, she could not have been more mortified and 
alarmed. A few moments later, when Mrs. Joyce entered 
the store, she found her fair employe in tears. 

“ Why, Allie, my child, what has happened ? ” her 
employer asked. 

44 Oh, don’t ask me, Mrs. Joyce, — don’t ask me,” she 
sobbed, “ I cannot tell, but I fear I am doomed to hopeless 
misery.” She ran from the shop to the rear parlor, and 
Mrs. Joyce anxiously watching her, said : 

44 The heartless villain has deceived her, poor child. 
Well, he’d better not show himself about this shop again.’’ 
She resolved with the anxiety of a mother to keep an eye 
on the young man. 

With a prospective breach of promise action in mind, 
she took her place just outside the parlor door on Mon- 
day evening, to listen to 44 every word he uttered.” 

Fred’s face was pale but there was a desperate calmness 
about it. Allie noticed his pallor when he entered the 
little room, and asked him if he had been ill. 

I 44 I have been troubled with headache,” he answered. 
Fred hoped he might get from Allie some assurance of 
her sympathy, but she was strangely cold and indif- 
ferent to his suffering. 

He had seen her soothe the most acute sufferings of a 
wounded stranger ; why had she no word for him ? Why 
did she sit there and gaze into the glowing grate. Her 
composure seemed bordering on indifference. 15 


226 


CALAMITY BOW. 


“ Allie, what have I done? ” he asked. 

She started, and, trembling, answered : “ Nothing, I 

hope.” 

“ Then some one has been talking of me ? ” 

“No — no — ”she stammered, that calm exterior brok- 
en, “ I have not heard a word against yon, Mr. Saun- 
ders.” 

“ Something must be wrong.” he said, rising to his feet, 
and taking a step toward the door. 

“ What can be wrong, Mr. Saunders ? ” Allie asked, her 
voice trembling in spite of herself. 

“ I don’t know — you are so changed — so cold — so differ- 
ent from what you have been before that — I — ” 

He paused, and fixed his eyes on her pale, pleading 
face. It was silently entreating him to spare her, and 
yet the secret could not be hidden. He hesitated but a 
brief moment, and then at two or three quick strides 
was at her side. Before she could comprehend what he 
was about, he had seized her hand in his, and his hot 
breath was on her cheek as he began wildly : 

“ Forgive me, Allie, if I have been wrong ! — if I have 
deceived myself and deceived you, — but I must know 
the truth. At times I have hoped that you felt the 
same as I do. At other times I have been discouraged. 
Do not blame yourself if I was wrong in my feeling for 
you. Never by word or deed have you encouraged me.” 
He paused a single moment, for her lips were quivering 
and her breast heaving tumultuously. But she was 
silent, and he went on, “ Oh, Allie, forgive me — I come 
to-night to tell you — I must tell you, that I love you ! ” 

“ Oh don’t, don’t, Mr. Saunders,” she cried, starting 
up, and shrinking from him. But somehow he still held 
the little hand captive, though she struggled to withdraw 
it. Her voice was not loud, but its sweet cadence was 
enough to melt a heart of stone. 


THE BETROTHAL. 


22 ? 


u Forgive me, Allie,” he gasped, struggling manfully 
with his emotion's. “ If I have wronged you, I will on 
my knees implore your forgiveness. If it is wrong to 
love you tenderly with all my heart, soul, and manhood, 
then I have committed a most heinous sin.” 

“Mr. Saunders, — you know not what you say,” she 
cried, hiding her face behind the hand that was free but 
ceasing to struggle for the freedom of the other. 

“ I assure you — I do, Allie ; and it only requires your 
consent to make our betrothal complete.” 

Their betrothal ? Did he mean it ? Was he in earnest, 
or was it only a snare set for her feet ? She had been 
taught to regard beauty as only dangerous to a girl in her 
station of life. She knew how wily the tempter was, and 
how soft were his snares. Oh ! if she only dared hope 
he would prove true ! — In her devout Christian heart she 
loved Fred Saunders as she had never loved another ; 
all her soul was centered in him, and he had for months 
dwelt in her fondest dreams ; but this sudden avowal was 
overwhelming! Her better judgment had fought against 
her rebellious heart ; for she knew the difference in their 
stations. But, as in Fred’s case, the heart was about to 
triumph over reason. She still struggled feebly as the 
poor bird flutters in the hand of its captor. 

“ Oh ! Mr. Saunders,” she sobbed, “ you cannot mean 
what you say. Think of the difference in our stations ; 
think how unworthy I am of you ! ” 

Those were the first words of encouragement Fred had 
received. He was almost in ecstacies. Venturing to place 
his left arm about herw^aist, he said : 

“ Answer me Allie, — do you love me?” 

“ Oh do not — do not force me to answer.” 

“ I must, — It is very easy,” he gently said, drawing 
the drooping figure toward him. “Yes, or no? only one 
word — ” 


228 


CALAMITY ROW. 


“ I dof she whispered, after a long hesitation. He 
drew her close to his breast, and then for the first time 
that beautiful face, radiant with blushes, beaming with 
smiles, and yet damp with the tears of love, appeared 
to his view. He still kept the hand a prisoner, and draw- 
ing her face to his, pressed a kiss upon her lips. All the 
pent up love which she had striven so long to keej) down 
seemed to burst forth ; and with passionate tears in her 
eyes, she flung her arms about his neck. . She clung to 
him fervently, as though she feared he was but the sha- 
dow of a dream and might vanish. “ Oh, my darling, 
she murmured, “how I have struggled against this, 
because I thought it was not right.” 

“ Why is it not right ? ” he asked, leading her to the 
settle, where they both seated themselves, their arms 
about each other. “ Why is it not right ? God has or- 
dained that man and woman should love. A pure, holy 
love is as near God as we can approach in this world.” 

“ But — but, I — I am not worthy,” she sobbed, once 
more breaking down. lie drew her head again on his 
breast, and in the softest accents responded. 

“It is that am unworthy of you, my angel — well, I 
am only a man, and not a very good one either. You are 
my superior in everything that is pure and good, and 
will always be my pride and joy.” 

“You do not realize,” — she said, as some horrible 
recollection forced itself between her and happiness, 
“ I am — a shop-girl.” 

“ Do you think that can be an objection to our mar 
riage ? ” he asked, with a smile. She nerved herself : she 
must conceal nothing. So trembling as if in an ague fit, 
she whispered : 

“ Yet, you do not know all — you shall know all . — lam 
a foundling I ” 


THE BETROTHAL. 


229 


He only smiled and drew her closer to him as he 
replied : “ I have known that, and considered it well, my 
dear. Ilove you — I love you — that is all sufficient. I care 
not what you may have been. 1 am miserable without 
you ; your birth is no crime of yours.” 

“ Oh my darling.” she cried with joyful sobs — “ I am 
so happy.” Once more she entwined her arms about his 
neck, and their lips met again and again in the outpour- 
ing of love. 

Mrs. Joyce, who had been a fascinated listener just 
outside the door, rose from her place of observation and 
crept up the narrow stairway, to her bedroom. 

As soon as Allie had somewhat recovered from the 
emotion which had overrun her reason, she fixed her 
eyes on the face of her betrothed, and said: 

“ What will your mother say? Dare you tell her?” 

“ My mother knows all,” he answered, “ I received a 
letter from her to-day, in which she says, she will love 
her son’s wife, let her birth be a mystery or not. And 
you will love her ; she is so kind and so good.” 

“ I know I shall — I know I shall,” she sobbed, wild 
with joy. 

Fred remained late in the small back parlor. The 
hours seemed to the lovers but fleeting moments. It 
was midnight before he thought it ten o’clock. When 
he parted from Allie, a band of gold encircled her fore- 
^ finger. All the world seemed bright and gay to Fred 
as he went along the street. Though it was the silentest 
hour for Calamity Row, yet the somber street seemed 
as gay as if lighted by a noonday sun. The city was to 
him all splendor. Never before had he seen the stars 
shine so brightly. The moon in the center of the sky 
above, filled the city with radiance. 

The clouds had cleared away from his mental sky. 
and he was happy, happy, very happy. 


280 


CALAMITY ROW. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

THE SEQUEL TO JACK’S STORY. 

Fred had written to his mother, told her all, ( and 
received such a reply as only a mother can write. But he 
wanted to talk with one that knew Allie and could 
appreciate her excellent qualities and rare beauty. 

He met Dr. Morey a day or two after his betrothal, 
and they walked down the street together. It was a 
pleasant day, almost warm as spring. The snow had 
disappeared and the streets were nearly dry. Fred told 
the Doctor of his engagement in a plain straightforward 
manner. Dr. Morey listened in silence. He seemed to 
be partially prepared for it, and evinced no surprise. 
After Fred had finished, he said : 

“ Have you carefully considered everything?” 

“ I have,” the young man answered. 

“ Are you sure you realize what is before you ? ” 

“I do, doctor. I fully understand the situation ; I have 
not plunged into this matter blindly. The step has 
been taken after months of careful deliberation. I know 
very well what my friends and the public will say ; I 
know that many an aristocratic nose will be turned up 
at my nameless shop-girl wife. But let them completely 
ostracize me if they will. Happiness is the chief end of 
man’s existence, and if I can be happier as a hermit with 
Allie, than I could as chief magistrate of the nation with- 
out her, am I not wise in marrying?” 

“But — but — ’’began the doctor, in that timid, hesi- 
tating manner with which a person usually approaches 
a delicate matter, “ do you imderstand about her birth ? ” 


231 


THE SEQUEL TO JACK’S STOliY. 

“ I know all that any one knows. She is a foundling. 
I have considered the worst — the very worst — and 
chosen.” 

The doctor was silent. Surely a love that could over- 
leap pride in this way, was not to be trifled with. After 
a few moments, however, he again said : 

“ Have you consulted your parents ? ” 

“ I have told my mother the whole truth, and she, 
just as a good mother always does, decides in favor of 
her son’s happiness.” 

“Fred Saunders,” said Doctor Morey suddenly, grasp- 
ing his hand, “ you are a noble young fellow. Young 
men that follow the dictation of the heart, and trample 
pride and ambition under foot,' as you have done, are 
rare. When I meet one, I feel as if I had discovered a 
diamond in the heap of rubbish we call humanity.” 

u And I have discovered a living fountain of happiness 
in the shop-girl of Calamity Row.” 

They walked on in silence. Dr. Morey was thinking 
how little Fred understood the great task before him. 
He could, in the present flush of inexperienced manhood, 
defy public sentiment ; but if he could see the long years 
of stubborn combating with ostracism and isolation, 
would he not relent? would he not think the step too 
great even for his firm, strong love ? Happily, the endless 
struggle was concealed from Fred by that mystic veil we 
call the future, through which not even the eye of the 
philosopher and sage can penetrate. 

These reflections of Dr. Morey were put to an end by 
some one shouting to them from across the street. Look- 
ing in that direction, he saw a wooden-legged sailor 
whose cap and jacket were so coal-begrimed as hardly 
to be recognizable. He was hailing them in a familiar 
manner. 


232 


CALAMITY HOW. 


“ Helloa, shipmate, — lay to a moment, till I come ar 
longside ; I ’ve been cruisin’ round two days for you.’' 

The voice was familiar to Fred ; it startled him from a 
reverie both painful and pleasant, to see old Jack Bolin 
limping across the street to meet him. 

“Why, Mr. Bolin, I am glad to meet you,” said Fred, 
extending his hand to the crippled sailor. 

“ No — no — no Mister, if you please, messmate ; — jest 
plain 4 Jack;’ I’ve sailed under that so long I couldn’t 
think o’ any other now.” 

After Fred had introduced him to Dr. Morey, Jack 
continued > 

“ I ’ve been cruisin’ about trying to find ye, shipmate. 
There’s a seekel to that yarn I spun to ye, and I want ye 
to come aboard my sloop and read it, fur it’s written out 
thar before me.” 

Fred laughed and said : “ Jack, have you gone to story 
writing and do you want us to criticise your produc- 
tions ?” 

“No, shipmate, — I’m good at handlin’ the tiller and 
mendin’ sail, but I don’t never touch the pen. This yarn 
and the seekel hez become so clewed to my mission, that 
one must convoy the other all along the voyage.” 

“ Who has written the story, then?” Fred asked with 
some little curiosity.” 

“There’s been several at it,” said Jack, fetching a hitch 
at his trousers. “ Some o’ ern hev gone to Davy Jones ; 
and some are perhaps alive. Its in reglar book-form and 
runs through ’bout three volumes, but you kin read all 
you need to in a few minnits ; come aboard with me and 
I kin explain it to ye : ’tain’t hed a very wide circulation 
I reckin.” 

Fred said that they better go, and the doctor, anxious 
for anything that would take his mind off Fred’s affairs 


THE SEQUEL TO JACK’S STORY 


233 


consented. They followed the old sailor down to the 
dock where lay the sloop. They all went aboard, and 
entered the small cabin where sat three rather unprepos- 
sessing individuals whom we can recognize at once as 
Burke and Pyke, wharf fishermen, and Duno the confi- 
dence man and beggar. 

“ These men are all in it,” said Jack. “ They go to make 
up the seek el o’ my first yarn ; and these,” laying his hand 
on two large soiled ledgers, “ are the books which contain 
the story and the seekel. Now this volume,” laying his 
hand on the larger, “ contains the story ; and these, ” 
touching the smaller books, “the seekel. This man 
there is Burke. He’s a wharf-rat, as we call ’em, and 
that’s Pyke his pardner,” continued the old sailor, 
pointing first to' one and then the other of these wor- 
thies. “ They fish in the river and harbor about here, and 
git many curious things besides fish. These books they 
got by accident on their hooks and brought ’em up, some 
two or three months ago, and they ’ve got my story and 
the seekel in ’em.” 

Jack Bolin had roused the curiosity of Fred and the 
doctor to the highest pitch. They urged him to go on. 

“This,” continued Jack, opening the largest volume, 
“ is one o’ the ship’s books o’ the Ocean Star, ye know. 
I told ye about my ship goin’ down in the harbor and so 
many gittin’ drowned. It has all the passengers, and 
sailors and officers who were on the Ocean Star when 
she went down, and they show there warn’t but one 
white woman and one baby aboard, as you’ll see. That’s 
the baby I saved and the woman I lost. Now here are 
their names,” and he pointed to “Mrs. Aurelia Vander- 
burg and her infant Alice, destination, New York.” 

“Good Heavens!” cried Fred, in amazement, “the 
infant you rescued is the child of Col, Robert Y anderburgj 


234 


CALAMITY ROW . 


the millionaire, whose.second wife deserted him, and whose 
niece eloped with the English cockney.” 

“ Keep quiet, Fred,” said the doctor, “ there is some- 
thing in this, and it’s our duty to investigate it.” 

Old Jack stood by the book in proud triumph. He felt 
that his mission was almost done. “ This book has the see- 
kel,” he said laying his hand on one of the smaller vol- 
umes. “They were fished out o’ the water by these men, 
and the letters were all faded away, but a drug clerk 
gave us somethin’ to bring back the ink. I guess, ship- 
mates, you find that proves Old Jack’s yarn to be true, 
don’t it ?” nodding at the ship’s book which Fred and 
the doctor were examining. 

“Your narrative undoubtedly has the best record tes- 
timony to substantiate it,” answered the doctor. 

“Now, shipmates, ye remember I said I landed and 
put the child in the hands o’ old Nance Gride, and went 
back fur the mother ; but I was run down, had my leg 
crushed, and laid most a year in a hospital, too near dead 
to do anything, and that I found Granny Gride only 
last fall. She had put the child in an orphan asylum, and 
so lost trace of it. The asylum books had been taken 
away and throwed in the river, and the building was 
burned the same night. This was done, I’ve found out, 
to cover up the whereabouts of an illegitimate child o’ 
somebody’s. These are the books, and there’s the man 
who took ’em.” He pointed to Duno, who shrank into 
one corner and kept his face averted. 

“ Them books got him in a little spell o’ bad weather, 
and he’s rather shy o’ ’em. Well, now, we come to the 
seekel,” added the sailor, opening the first of the smaller 
ledgers. “Jest step here and read, will you ?” 

Filled with curiosity, and feeling very much as if it was 
all a romance, Fred Saunders stepped up to the book, 
and saw on the yellow title-page : 


THE SEQUEL TO JACK'S STORY. 


235 


“The Orphans’ Christian Home.” 

“Now, then, read this, too,” said the sailor, turning 
over the yellow, soiled leaves near the central part of 
the book. With some difficulty Fred read : 

“ Entered on this 1st day of November, 1865, one un- 
known female infant, about a year and a half old, with 
blue eyes and light hair. Brought by Nancy Gride, who 
says it was given her by Jack Bolin. Parents not known.” 

“That is certainly the baby,” Fred remarked but 
can you trace it no further?” 

“Yes, shipmate; but blow my eyes ef I can get it to 
port. Here’s the second one o’ them books, which has 
somethin’ o’ it.” He took up another volume of the 
same size as the second, and laying it on the table, 
opened it at the third page. “Jest read, please.” Fred 
did so : 

“ The child left by Nancy Gride not being called for — 
parents not known — is taken by Mrs. Margaret Sniffles, 
wife of Isaias Sniffles, to rear as her own.” 

“ Why, I know those people, Jack,” cried Fred, some* 
what excited ; “ I can take you to them at once, and you 
can find out what became of the child.” Fred at once 
concluded that one of the three daughters must be the 
foundling. All three had blue eyes, and either Miss 
Gracey or Miss Dolly might be of the right age. “ I 
have seen the child, no doubt.” 

“ No you ain’t, shipmate, — don’t cast anchor until you 
are in port,” said Jack, shaking his head sadly. “ When 
I come to that readin’ I thought I’d ’bout got to the end 
o’ my mission, but this is only an island. Port’s not in 
sight yit.” 

As he spoke his busy fingers were fumbling the yellow, 


CALAMITY HOW. 


faded leaves of the old record. At last he came to the 
place for which he was looking, and laying it open, said, 

“ Read.” 

Fred and the doctor together read : 

Dec* 1st, 1865. — Unknown child taken by Margaret 
Sniffles, wife of Isaias Sniffles, returned.” 

“That is very unfortunate, Jack,” said Fred, who was 
momentarily growing more interested. 

“Yes, there’s ’nother place where it speaks o’ the 
same child.” 

“ What does it say ? ” 

“They named it somethin’, and somebody took it 
away. 

“ Those are very important clues,” said the doctor, 
thoughtfully. For the last few moments he had been 
studying the face of Burke, and had partially lost interest 
in the unfolding mystery. It seemed as if that face had 
been familiar at some long-forgotten period and the sight 
of it awakened unpleasant recollections. 

“ I’m huntin’ for the place now,” said the sailor, again 
fumbling the yellow leaves of the old, half-rotted ledger. 
He turned them with care, for they were so decayed that 
there was danger of tearing them to pieces. 

“ These records evidently had an index at one time,’’ 
Fred remarked. “ If we had it now it would greatly facili- 
tate matters.” 

“ Guess we ain’t got such a thing aboard,” said the 
sailor, still turning the leaves. “ These are all they fished 
up. Well, here it is — here’s the place,” said old Jack at 
last, turning to a page and pointing his finger at it. Dr. 
Morey took a step nearer the sailor, and looking over his 
shoulder, read : 


The sequel to jack's story. 


237 


“ February 28^A, 1867. — Child taken and returned by 
Mrs. Margaret Sniffles , wife of Jsaias Sniffles , named by 
the Orphan's Christum Home Society Allie Gray , taken 
from asylum by Joseph Buggies , cobbler .” 

“ What ? — what ? — what ? ” cried Fred, staggering for- 
ward as if some one had dealt him a blow. 

“ Be quiet,” whispered the doctor ; “ for heaven’s sake, 
Fred, be quiet.” 

“ Tell me, doctor,” Fred gasped, as if breathing had 
become difficult, “have v ou read that right?” 

“Yes, yes.” 

“ Is it true ? ” 

“ It must be. Sit down and be quiet.” 

“ What is it ? ” Fred asked in a confused way, sinking 
into a chair and wringing his hands in a wild manner. 
He seemed to believe himself in a dream. 

Dr. Morey asked the sailor a few 7 questions, and draw- 
ing his note-book and pencil, began to write. Fred could 
only sit and stare at him in a stupefied manner, hardly 
seeming to comprehend what it all meant. The doctor 
w^ent over the three books very much like a lawyer 
gathering up record testimony. He made up notes from 
them, thus completing the chain of evidence. Light 
broke in on his mind, and he nodded his head knowingly. 

“These books are valuable,” said the doctor at last 
with decision. 

“ But the baby — ” began the sailor, who had been too 
much astonished to get in a w T ord. 

“ It will be found,” answered the doctor ; then turning 
to Burke, he looked him in the face a moment and, 
advancing, asked : 

“ Are you not Anthony Burke, the man that used to 
supply the medical colleges, in 1865 and 1866, with sub- 
jects for dissection ? ” Burke stared a moment at the doc- 


CALAMITY BOW. 


m 

tor — “ I know you. You brought to me the body of a young 
woman for dissection, who had a singular mark on her 
arm. It was a star and a crescent. Are you not the 
man ? ” 

“ I — I — expect I am,” Burke gasped, too much amazed 
and frightened to speak anything but the truth. 

For a moment the doctor silently gazed at the man be- 
fore him, as if his keen grey eyes would pierce him through, 
then he said, slowly and solemnly, “ Did you not get the 
body from the river, near where the Ocean Star sank ? 
You need not fear to acknowledge it, for it is too long 
ago for the law to trouble you.” 

“I did,” he stammered, after a moment’s hesitation. 

“ A short time after the wreck ? ” 

“ It wasn’t more than a week.” 

“ There’s money in this, Burke,” said the doctor, earn- 
estly. “ There’s money and no danger. Tell the truth, 
and tell it manfully. Don’t you know she was one of the 
drowned passengers from that vessel?” 

“ Well,” he muttered, “I expect she was.” 

“ You remember we did not use the subject, and hired 
you to bury the body ; could you find the grave ? ” 

Again he seemed to shrink within himself, but, as vis- 
ions of reward came to his mind, he conquered his 
timidity and answered : 

“Yes.” 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

FROM DESPAIR TO ECSTACY. 

That evening, Fred and Dr. Morey were closeted in 
the apartment of the latter. A great change had come 
over our hero’s face. Dr. Morey, as usual, was grave and 


FROM DESPA TR TO EC STACY, ‘230 

cool. lie maintained the air of a philosopher accustomed 
to making discoveries, and not at all elated at this. 

“Doctor,” said Fred, “ I can hardly believe it is real.’ 

“ It is,” said the doctor, lighting a pipe and emitting 
clouds of smoke. u It is no dream, Fred, no romance, 
though it sounds like one. I do not wonder at your being 
confounded ; you got in your work in good time, my boy. 
The girl is worth four millions, beyond a doubt, and of as 
good a family as lives.” 

“ Do you think, doctor, that I would hold her to an 
engagement made when neither of us knew her real posi- 
tion in the world ? ” Fred asked. 

“No, I don’t think you would; but I think she will 
hold you ; if she doesn’t, I must confess I don’t under- 
stand Miss Allie Gray, alias Alice Vanderburg.” For a 
moment Fred struggled, was silent, and then said: 

“ Doctor, do you really believe that the body brought 
to your dissecting room so many years ago, was Col.Van- 
derburg’s wife ? ” 

“ I think it very probable now. But somehow, at the 
time, it never occurred to me, though the newspapers were 
full of the disaster.” 

The doctor continued to smoke in silence, and Fred 
puzzled himself with the problem whether this was real 
or only a fancy of his romantic imagination. 

“Doctor, in what way is Tennessee connected with this 
mystery ? Don’t you remember his strange conduct on 
the night you told the story of the star and the crescent ? 
What did he mean?” 

“ I don’t know,” the doctor answered. “ It is a thing 
unaccountable to me. Perhaps it will all be explained.” 

Both relapsed into silence, and for a long time sat gaz- 
ing into the glowing coal fire in the grate. The doctor 
smoked out his pipe and sat a long while gazing into the 
fire. 


CALAMITY HOW. 


240 

“ Fred, we have got to do something,” he at last said, 
without removing his gaze from the grate. 

His young companion started from his reverie and an- 
swered, with a laugh : 

“ Have we taken to dreaming ? ” 

“There is no time for dreaming. Upon one of us de- 
volves the task of going to Col. Vanderburg and making 
him acquainted with this discovery. I understand he is 
partially recovered from the last sad blow — his wdfe’s 
elopement — but the matter must be carefully handled. 
The question is, who is the proper person to break the 
news ? ” 

“You are, doctor,” said Fred. “Your cool judgment 
and long experience as a physician w r ill be of great 
assistance in this delicate task.” 

After another silence the doctor said : 

f‘Yes, you are right; I think I had better attend to 
that. I see no reason to prevent both from going, 
unless his family physician should think otherwise. We 
will first call on him and reveal all ; he had better go 
along.” 

“ I presume it would be best,” said Fred. M We should 
be refused admittance without.” 

Next morning, Dr. Morey called at Mrs. Billington’s 
boarding-house for Fred, and asked Tennessee to accom- 
pany them. He agreed, but not with the faintest idea of 
the real object of the journey, and they set out for the 
office of Col. Vanderburg’s physician. 

“ Have you told him ? ” Morey asked, with a nod toward 
Tennessee, who was ambling along behind them, gazing 
into the doors of the houses and into the faces of many 
of the pedestrians that hurried by. The Southerner still 
retained much of his native rusticity. 

“No — I told no one,” Fred answered. “I have strict- 
ly followed your advice in the matter,” 


FROM DESPAIR TO ECSTACY. 241 

“ That is right. He will know all at the right time,” 
said the doctor. 

The wind had shifted round to the northwest, and the 
day was severely cold. Sharp blasts met them at every 
corner, and pierced them to the bone. They hur- 

* ried along with their overcoats buttoned up to their 
chins. They hailed a passing car and entered. On reach- 
ing the doctor’s office, Dr. Morey and the Vanderburg 
physician talked a long time together in a low, earnest 
manner. Fred, whose bewilderment was not entirely gone, 
and Tennessee, whose amazement can be better imagined 
than described, sat at a little distance. They heard the 
Vanderburg physician occasionally giving vent to ex- 
clamations of wonder and surprise, as the story was 
related to him. At last the narrative concluded, and Dr. 
Morey, elevating his voice so they could hear him, said: 

“ Do you think we dare break it to him ? ” 

“Yes,” the New York physician quickly answered. 
“ It will do him no harm, and in fact I think will do 
him good. I will trust you, Doctor, to make the revelation 
You have sound discretion in such matters; exercise it.’ 

“ But you must accompany us, Doctor, and see that your 
patient is in a fit condition to receive the information.” 

When Tennessee found that he was to be taken to 
the Vanderburg mansion, for some unaccountable reason 
he rebelled. Swearing that he would see the Colonel in 

* the infernal regions first. Dr. Morey took him aside and 
| after a long, earnest talk which puzzled Fred, Tennessee 

consented ; so they all set out for the house of Col. 
Vanderburg. 

In his own aj^artment, reclining on a couch, was the 
wasted form of the once robust Robert V anderburg ; 
wasted not so much by any perceptible disease or age, 
as by some obscure cause. 

10 


242 


CALAMITY LOW. 


The chronically morbid condition of his mind had pro- 
duced physical derangement. The recent double shocks, 
falling on one whose life was almost a wreck, had 
really less effect then they would have had if he had been 
in full strength and pride. While Fred and the doctor 
were consulting with his physician, his nurse was in his 
apartment watching the grave face. F or some time the 
Colonel gazed out at the window ; at last he asked : 

“ Has any one heard from Adelaide yet ? ” 

“£4o, colonel, — do not think of her.” 

“Why?” he asked mournfully,” I have no one else to 
think of. Poor Adelaide has done wrong. But I must 
not see her suffer.” 

“ You will forgive her, then ?” 

“I will not see her suffer when I have so much at my 
command.” 

At this moment the door bell rang. A servant came 
to the master’s apartment and announced the doctor and 
three gentlemen. 

“What does he bring men with him for?’’ the in- 
valid asked. “ Some biisiness to be transacted, I suppose ; 
well, admit them, and we will see what can be done. The 
doctor would not allow them to come unless it was im- 
portant.” In a few moments the gentlemen entered the 
invalid’s room. 

. “Well, Colonel, you are looking better,” said the phy- 
sician, with the freedom of a family doctor, “ I am glad 
of it, for I brought these gentlemen to tell you some 
good news.” 

“ Good news !” repeated the invalid, raising his haggard 
face and hollow eyes to the doctor. “ What good news 
can come to me ? Some of my stocks gone up to increase 
my burden a few millions? My renegade wife heard 
from, — coming back with all her shame and disgrace, to 


FROM DESPAIR TO EC STACY, 


243 


drag me to my grave? My foolish niece returning with 
her adventurer, that they may await my death and wear 
my shoes ? ” 

“No, no, Colonel ; we have no news from either source. 
This is really good news. Do you suppose you can bear 
it?” 

“ I think so, — I have borne so much bad news ; I guess 
I can endure a little good.” 

“ There is more in this, Colonel, than you think,” his 
physician said. “I want you to be brave, Col. Van- 
derburg — not that there is danger ; but be brave against 
joy. This will be so overwhelming that I almost fear to 
let you know it.” 

“ What can it be ? ” the invalid asked, his eyes grow 
ing brighter with newly awakened interest. 

The doctor felt his pulse and gave him a gentle stimu- 
lant to strengthen his nerves. 

“You recognize Dr. Morey, do you not? he asked. 

“Yes, he’s the physician who so kindly bound up my 
wounds the time I was hurt on Calamity Row.” 

“ He knows something that will please you, Colonel,” 
said his physician, carefully. “ It is no vain, delusive hope, 
but a reality. He lias the recorded testimony to prove 
what he will tell you.” 

As the eyes of the invalid grew brighter ; Tennessee, 
who had not been introduced, sat gazing at him, his own 
face expressing many emotions. The invalid turned his 
eyes on Dr. Morey and said, feebly : 

“If you have anything that would interest me, I am 
willing to hear it.” 

Dr. Morey and the family physician exchanged glances, 
and then the former said : 

“ I hope you are prepared for a surprise, Col. Y ander- 
burg.” 


244 


CALAMITY LtOW. 


“ I am prepared for almost anything. My nerves are 
so deadened that it would fall harmless on me, be the 
shock ever so great.” 

“ Permit me.” began Dr. Morey, in a very calm manner, 
“ to preface my revelation with a few questions, that we 
may understand everything fully as we go along.” 

“Ask whatever you please, I have no secrets now,” 
the invalid answered. 

“Your first marriage was in the South during the war 
was it not ? ” 

“ Yes — I was a Colonel in the Union army stationed at 
Memphis, Tennessee, in 1863, when I was married.” 

“ Your first wife was a Southern woman ? ” 

“Yes sir, and her father was an officer in the Confeder- 
ate army,” he answered calmly. “ There was a strong 
partisan opposition to our marriage.” 

The invalid was apparently calm, yet his eager eyes be- 
trayed inward excitement. Tennessee became restless. 

“ After your marriage, your regiment was transferred 
to New Orleans?” 

“Yes.” 

“ There you had a child born ? ” 

“ We had ; it was a girl. I remember her large blue eyes, 
and how her sweet baby fingers would pluck at the brass 
buttons on my coat. But I left my wife and child at 
New Orleans when I was transferred to the Shenandoah 
Valley, whence I came to New York to be mustered out 
of service.” 

“ And your family ? ” 

“ They started to come to me. The vessel was wrecked 
in the harbor by a collision, and went down. There was 
a great fog which prevented many being saved. My wife 
and child were lost with the others.” 

There was a moment’s silence. Tennessee brushed a tear 


FROM DESPAIR TO ECSTACT. 


245 


from his eye. The doctors exchanged glances, and the 
Yanderburg physician nodded for Dr. Morey to proceed. 

“ Do you know, Colonel,” said Dr. Morey, slowly and 
carefully, “that a child was rescued from that vessel? ” 

“ No ; impossible ! I never heard of one being rescued. If 
it had, I should have known it — I advertised — Oh, no — 
don’t say that — don’t ! ” 

“Be careful, Col. Yanderburg,” said Dr. Morey. “We 
told you to be prepared for a surprise such as you could 
not imagine. We cautioned you.” 

“ I know, I know — ” 

“ And you said you were prepared for anything,” add- 
ed the family physician. 

“ Yes, but not that — not what you are hinting at — Oh 
my God, it can’t be so ! ” 

He was growing so much excited that his physician 
thought Dr. Morey had better desist. But the Colonel 
at once forced himself to be calm and urged them to 
go on. “ I am now prepared even for that, and the sus- 
pense is more trying than the revelation would be.” 

“ Yes, yes, go on ! go on ! ” cried Tennessee, in a man- 
ner that puzzled Fred, but which the doctors seemed to 
understand. “ Don’t stop, Doc, ’till ye’ve told it all from 
beginnin’ to end ; I’m shore he kin stand it if I kin.” 

Dr. Morey, however, would not proceed until fully no- 
tified by a nod from family the physician. 

£ “ Do you think, Colonel,” said Dr. Morey, carefully, 

“ that you could endure the information that an infant 
had been rescued from the steamer ? ” 

“Yes,” the Colonel answered, making a desperate ef- 
fort to be calm. 

“ Well, Colonel, there was a child rescued by a sailor 
named Bolin.” 

“ I cannot believe it,” said the Colonel, struggling with 


240 


CALAMITY HO W. 


his emotions. “ If that be true, why was I not informed 
of it before? I advertised in every paper in tbe city. I 
offered rewards for tbe bodies of my wife and child, but 
never a trace of them could be found. The survivors of 
the wreck knew nothing of them. Don’t raise false hopes 
Doctor ; — I have suffered enough spare me that torture. 

“ I raise no false hopes, Colonel,” said the doctor, very 
calmly. “I have not said the child was yours. The 
sailor did not know the name of the child, nor of its 
mother. He brought it to shore and put it in the arms of 
a miserable, ignorant woman, named Nancy Gride, and 
went back to rescue a woman whom he had left on a 
door tied fast to a buoy. His boat was run down by a 
tug, and he was so injured that he' lay nearly a year in 
the hospital, unable even to speak of the child he had 
rescued. The woman left on the buoy was drowned. 
The sailor knew not whose child he had rescued. He 
tried to find Nancy Gride, but never succeeded until 
about three months ago. She then told him that, not 
hearing from him, she had put the child in the Orphans , 
Christian Home , which was burned about ten years ago, 
and the books of the establishment stolen and thrown 
into the river.” 

Dr. Morey paused to note the effect. The Colonel 
was very much excited. A strengthening cordial was 
given him, and after a few moments he said : “ There 

can be no doubt about the child’s being rescued ? ” 

None whatever, Colonel,” the doctor answered. “ The 
sailor is ready at any time to make an affidavit to the 
facts I have stated.” 

“Well — well,” sighed the invalid, hopelessly ; “what 
joy can that be to me ? The sailor does not know whose 
child it was ? ” 

“ No ; if he had known he would have told you long 
ago.” 


FROM DESPAIR TO EC ST ACT. 


2-17 


“ Then you have only cursed me with a doubt. The 
child may be mine or may not. Is that joy ?” 

“ Wait, Colonel,” said Dr. Morey, very calmly, taking 
from the inside pocket of his coat the note book in which 
he had written the memoranda from the old records. 

£ “About two or three months ago two fishermen were in a 
boat fishing near the mouth ©f East River. Their hooks 
become entangled in something which they drew up. It 
was an old canvas bag which had in it some large quarto 
record books. The weight of a large stone which was 
with them tore a hole in the bag and let some of them 
fall back into the water. Under the impression that the 
books were valuable, they secretly dragged that part of 
the river, and recovered two more volumes. One of them 
was the register of the ship Ocean /Star , containing a 
a list of all the passengers, officers, and crew, aboard on 
her last fatal voyage. There were but one white woman and 
one infant aboard. They were 3frs. Aurelia Vanderburg 
and her infant daughter , Alice ; bound for New York A 

Dr. Morey paused, for Col. Vanderburg, unable longer 
to contain himself, was on his feet. “ Don’t ask me to be 
calm,” he cried. “ How can I be ? — I never dreamed it 
could be thus. My child lives — the child that for seven- 
teen years I have mourned as dead. Oh, God be praised ! 
You need not tell me she is not — You know where she 
is. Take me to her at once ; you would never have come 
to me with this much of the story if you had not known 
all.” 

The physician urged him to be calm, and they would 
not proceed until he was so. Yet toward the conclusion 
he was wild with joy. Tennessee broke down and wept 
like a child. Dr. Morey told all, even to the spot where 
the mother was buried. He concluded with : 

“ That sweet, pure, lovely girl in the shop at Calamity 


248 


CALAMITY LOW. 


Row, who attended you so faithfully and tenderly when 
you were injured, is your own daughter.” 

Notwithstanding all their caution, this was too much 
for the invalid. With a sharp cry he swooned. The 
doctors sprang to his aid and Tennessee wrung his hands 
and wept for joy. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

A GENERAL CLEARING UP. 

It is night, and the large parlor and drawing room of 
the Vanderburg mansion are all aglow with splendor. 
The gilded chandeliers have been lighted, the awning has 
been stretched across the pavement, and a carpet spread 
up to the door, just as if it was the eve of another great 
ball. The lamps beneath the awning are lighted, and lj ver- 
ied servants moving about with the importance belonging 
to servants on a grand occasion like the present. In the 
parlor, sitting by the side of Dr. Morey, on a sofa, is Col. 
Vanderburg, looking many years younger. He is richly 
attired, and his laugh rings out with more genuine mer- 
riment than his domestics had ever heard in it before. Old 
Stephen, the butler, shakes his head mysteriously, and 
declares it is not all right. The mansion has been hastily 
prepared for a reception. This reception is to welcome 
home the Colonel’s long lost child, — to elevate a pure, 
spotless maiden from the poverty and the dangers of 
Calamity Row, to her birthright of wealth and position. 
Fred Saunders has gone to break to his betrothed the 
joyful news, and the family carriage is to call for them 
at a certain time to bring her to her father. Messengers 
have also been sent to summon Jack Bolin, Mr. and Mrs. 


A GENERAL CLEARING UP. 


249 


Sniffles, Mr. and Mrs. Dempster, Horace, Burke, Pyke, 
Duno and the three books, Joe Ruggles and wife, Jake, 
Mrs. Joyce, and even Granny Gride. In addition to 
these, the Colonel has his legal adviser present and a few 
of his most intimate friends. The Colonel, in profound 
yet well controlled emotion, was talking with Dr. Morey. 

“ My child, my own child whom I had not seen since 
she was an infant, until that day,” he suddenly broke 
out — “Oh, I loved her then. She is coming. Well, 
well, the house has waited long for its rightful mistress ; 
now it shall be prepared for her ; I will make amends for 
all she has lost in a life of misery and poverty.” 

Our friend Tennessee, who had been sitting in a fa- 
corner of the room engaged in conversation with the Col- 
onel’s family physician, came forward, and, seating himself 
unceremoniously in front of them, began in his character 
istic way : 

“ I say, fellers ; I. guess ye think I’m a fool, don’t ye? 
But ef ye’ll listen to me, I kin tell a leetle more o’ this 
yarn, which aint a sorry one by no means. Ef the Col- 
onel here knew I was David C. Stonebeater, the little 
brother o’ his wife, he could understand it. I was only 
twelve years old, durin’ the war, when the Colonel come 
to our neighborhood with his regiment, and run my father 
and his regiment out o’ the country. He come to our 
house and was very kind, but mother couldn’t forgive 
him fur bein’ an invadin’ Yankee. My sister Aurelia 
loved him, and when he left the neighborhood fur New 
Orleans, she run off and went with him. It was never 
known fur certain ’till years after that they were married. 
Father and mother both died without knowin’ it, an’ 
never furgive their gal fur elopin’ with a hated Yankee. 
The war driv us into the Cumberland mountains, and it 
was a long time before I heerd o’ my sister bein’ drowned. 


CALAMITY ROW . 


*250 

She bed a birth-mark on her arm like a new moon with a 
star in the center, and when the doctor described the 
body in the dissecting-room, I knowed it was her. Col. 
Vanderburg, though my parents never furgive ye fur 
bein’ a Yankee soldier and ‘ stealin’ ’ the best and noblest 
gal that ever lived, I will.” 

The warm-hearted Southerner, with tears in his eyes, 
extended his hand to the Colonel, who took it in silence. 

The servants are beginning to receive guests. First, a 
carriage rolls up, and Mr. and Mrs. Sniffles alight. Too 
much astonished to speak, they are conducted under the 
brilliant awning to the door of the grand mansion. ■ Mrs. 
Sniffles imagines herself in a fairyland, and her shrill, 
sharp voice is awed into silence by all the grandeur of the 
occasion. She is dressed in her best ; for a visit as an 
invited guest of the millionaire had never entered into 
her fondest dreams. Iler husband at her side can only 
stare in blank, owl-like amazement. They are taken 
to the reception-room and seated in the grandest apart- 
ment they have ever seen. Next come the minister and his 
wife; then comes Mrs. Joyce — ami Mrs. Sniffles feels her 
indignation rising. Did they, in this invitation, intend 
to classify her with the common herd. A few moments 
later old Joe Ruggles and his wife enter. 

Mrs. Sniffles can contain herself no longer, and whis- 
pers in her husband’s ear : “I shouldn’t wonder if that 
disgraceful Allie Gray didn’t come poppin’ in next. If 
this is to be the best of New York society I will quit it,” 
she wrathfully avows, in the same shrilly uttered 
whisper, so close to her husband’s ear that no one save 
he could hear the threat. 

Amazement sits on the brows of all. No one under- 
stands, or can even surmise, for what purpose they have 
been called together. Their astonishment exceeds all 


A GENERAL CLEARING UP. 


‘251 


bounds, when old Jack Bolin, followed by Burke, Pyke, 
Duno, and Jake enter. A few moments later old Granny 
Gride hobbles into the room. 

The last carriage to arrive is the family coach of Col. 
Vanderburg. It contains Fred Saunders and Allie. 
He has told her all, and her bewilderment is beyond de- 
scription. They alight, and she sees the same awning, 
the same lights and liveried footmen she saw on the 
night of the grand ball, when she was driven away by the 
policeman, as though she had been a thing to contaminate 
the grand lady. Was this really her home, and was she to 
meet a father here ; one whom she had never known and 
of whose existence she had not dreamed an hour before ? 
She leans heavily on her lover’s arm and trembles, and 
tears course down her pretty cheeks, as she trips along at 
his side under the awning. She whispers : 

“ Oh ! can this be true ? Is it not a dream ? It seems 
too strange to be real. Your love — this discovery, all — 
all seems too strange.” 

“ Miss Vanderburg,” says Fred, desperately, “ believe 
me, when I say that at the time I sought your hand in 
marriage, I did not dream that you were a millionaire's 
daughter ” 

“I know it — I know it,” she answers, in a whisper, 
which trembles with her excitement and emotion. They 
had almost reached the carpeted steps, and Fred had only 
time to stammer : 

“ Had I known, I w r ould not have dared.” She was silent. 
Was it because there was no time to answer, or might 
it not be fhat she preferred to be silent on the subject ? 
Did she regret her betrothal? How she might be wooed 
by the richest and greatest in the land. The poorest and 
weakest have their ambitious dreams. 

“This way, my lady. You are not to go to ^he recep- 


252 


CALAMITY ROW. 


tion parlor, but to Col. Vanderburg’s apartment,” said a 
servant, as they ascended the steps. 

Allie looked very pretty in her neat, but by no means 
costly or elaborate toilet. Bewildered, confused and only 
half-conscious of what was really going on, she w r as conduct- 
ed to the most elegant apartment she had ever seen. Dr. 
Morey, Tennessee, and several other gentlemen whom she 
did not know, rose and bowed to her as if she was some 
great lady. An elderly gentleman, whose pale face w T as 
flushed with excitement, came forward. She recognized 
him at once as the man that had been wounded by the 
runaway, at Calamity Row. 

“ My child — my child ! ” he sobbed, taking her in his 
arms. She did not swoon, but her brain was in a whirl ; 
she was in a semi-conscious state, and seemed to act me- 
chanically. A few moments later she found herself sitting 
on a sofa by her father’s side, and talking happily. 

Already she felt within her heart a new emotion — a 
daughter’s love. There w r as a legal looking gentleman 
present who, with Dr. Morey, was carefully examining 
some large, badly decayed old books. She could not un- 
derstand w 7 hat it meant, but some one said they were a 
ship’s register and the records of an orphan asylum, fished 
up out of the river. 

The lawyer occasionally paused in his work of exami- 
nation to ask some question of Dr. Morey, or to make some 
entry in his memorandum book. Then old Jack Bolin, 
whom she had never seen before, was called in the room 
to tell his story, which the reader has already heard. He 
concluded : “ Messmates, I’ve made it my life-mission to 
find that baby. I promised its mother, when she lashed 
it on my back, that I would take keer o’ it, and I must 
find it. The doctor said it was in port ; where is it ? ” 

“ You shall know in due time, my good man,” said 


A GENERAL CLEARING UP. 


m 


Mr. Blanchard, Col. Vanderburg’s attorney. Jack was 
then told to be seated in the room with these strange, fine 
people ; much to his embarrassment, he complied. 

Nancy Gride was next brought in. The attorney cross- 
examined her very closely as to what she did with the 
child given her by Jack Bolin ; only eliciting the one an- 
swer, that she had put it in the “ Orphans’ Christian 
Home.” At last they got through with her and sent her 
back, and Burke, Pyke, and Duno were examined sep- 
arately. The two fishermen told substantially the same 
story. Burke was very voluble and Pyke reticent, as 
usual, but there w T as no contradiction in their accounts. 
Duno was the hardest witness to manage. It re- 
quired all the tact of the attorney to get from him the 
story of the stolen books, but he W’ormed it out after all. 
Mrs. Sniffles was next summoned. She paused in aston- 
ishment to see an elegant drawing-room converted into a 
court of inquiry. She elevated her nose slightly at sight 
of the bewildered shop-girl from Calamity Row, sitting 
there by the side of that rich-looking old gentleman. 

“ Did you ever take a baby from the i Orphans’ Chris- 
tian Home ? ’ ” the attorney asked. 

“Yes, sir,” was the answer, in tones very sharp and 
shrill. 

“ At what time ? ” asked the attorney. 

The answer corresponded with the date in the register. 

“ What did you do with it ? ” 

“ Kept it a month or two, and took it back. It cried 
of nights and would not let us sleep.” 

She was asked to describe the baby, and she said it was 
an ugly little creature, with blue eyes and light hair. 

Mrs. Dempster remembered the baby ; she was only a 
little girl herself then, but she remembered that it had 
the most beautiful blue eyes and golden hair she had ever 


254 


CALAMITY BOW. 


seen. Its face was inexpressibly sweet, and she thought 
it a very pretty baby. The oral testimony thus far cor- 
responded with the records of which the witnesses 
evidently knew nothing. Joe Ruggles, when brought in, 
stated that he had taken a child from the “ Orphans’ 
Christian Home.” It was a girl, with blue eyes and 
golden hair. The date he gave corresponded with the 
date in the register, which he had not yet been permitted 
to see. 

What had he done with the baby? He had reared her 
as his own until she was old enough to get employment, 
and then she went into the shop of Mrs. Joyce. 

“Where is that child?” the lawyer asked. 

“ There she is,” the cobbler answered, pointing to Allie. 

“Blast my eyes !” said the sailor, starting up and com- 
ing over to the bewildered girl. “My mission’s over! 
The baby’s found, but she ain’t no baby now at all. Oh, 
little gal,” in his enthusiasm seizing her hand in his, “ye 
don’t know how much I’ve suffered since ye’ve been lost 
sight ov. I’ll never furgit that awful night when yer ma 
lashed ye to my back, and made me swear I’d never 
desert ye until I got ye safe in port. This is yer father; 
now yer safe and I’m ready to embark on my final 
voyage. 

Tears gathered in those weather-beaten eyes ; he sank 
down on a seat and sobbed. 

The examination as it had been planned by the lawyer, 
was completed. 

Col. Vanderburg had all his witnesses and guests as- 
semble in the drawing-room and taking Aide’s hand, 
said : 

“ This is my daughter. Her strange story you have 
heard in parts. Put those parts together, and you have 
a chain of testimony which no court under the sun could 


A GENERAL CLEARING UP. . 255 

reject. But there is still stronger evidence; my heart 
tells me this is my child. Those who befriended her in 
her hour of distress and almost squalid misery — thank 
God — I am able and willing to remunerate. My honest 
friend, Joe Ruggles, the cobbler, shall be cobbler no long, 
er. He and his good wife are pensioners on me for life — 
and — you shall all be liberally rewarded ■” 

The Colonel had over-estimated his strength. lie was 
forced to sit down, and his physician gave him a stimu- 
lant. The sailor rose to his feet and started toward the 
door. 

“Where are you going?” the invalid asked. 

“ To my sloop,” was the answer. “ My mission’s over 
and I guess I’ll go aboard.” 

“ No, no, my good man ; you’ll go aboard that craft no 
more. You shall have a good berth for life. Let me 
see,” the colonel added feebly, for he was yet very weak • 
“ I will make you captain of a new yacht I am to have 
built. You will have a first-rate crew, and a salary of 
five thousand a year as long as you live.” 

With a gasp old Jack sank down as suddenly as if he 
had been struck a blow. Had he been declared king of 
Great Britain it would have been a^small honor when 
compared to this. When informed that six months’ pay 
would be given him in advance, and that he was to live 
with his employer until the yacht was built, he could 
scarcely believe himself awake. 

Pyke, Burke and Duno set their services at three 
thousand dollars each, and they were paid the next 
morning. 

“ Well,” the sharp, shrill voice of Mrs. Sniffles was heard 
to say, as she hurried across the room where the Colonel 
and his daughter sat, “ this is your daughter, Colonel Van- 
derburg ? ’ 


CALAMITY BOW. 


£56 

This is my daughter, madam,” the Colonel answered, 
politely, yet coolly. 

“ I am so glad you have found her. Oh, I am so glad. 
I’ve known her so long, and we always loved her.” 

“ Ya-as,” echoed her husband, joining her, “ we always 
loved her so.” 

Alice was silent. Her father interposed at once, and 
said : “ Thank you, good people ; I will remunerate you 

for the information given. A carriage is at your dis- 
posal whenever you wish to return home. My daughter 
is fatigued.” 

Mrs. Sniffles was chagrined. She elevated her nose to 
its highest altitude and sailed out of the room with her 
husband. 

Alice Vanderburg was shown to her room by a cham- 
bermaid. At her earnest request Mrs. Joyce remained 
to pass the first night with her in her father’s house. Mr. 
Demj)ster and his wife were urged to call frequently. 
Old Joe Ruggles and his wife were kept nearly all night 
in the Colonel’s room, telling him anecdotes of Alice’s 
childhood. The Colonel gave Granny Gride some money 
to increase her stock, more on account of her utter help- 
lessness than anything else. 

Jake, the pest of Calamity Row, was taken at once into 
Col. Vanderburg’ s employ, but he did not retain the boy 
long. The lawyer who had the lost books of the Orphans’ 
Christian Home, began looking up the illegitimate dieir, 
to destroy the identity of whom the asylum was burned. 
With the aid of Dunoand the books it was no impossible 
thing. The child proved to be none other than Jake, the 
nameless waif of the streets. The parents were found, 
and to escape exposure, made the nameless, homeless 
orphan a neat present in the sum of fifty thousand dol- 
lars. Dr. Morey was appointed Jake’s guardian. He 


CONCLUSION . 


257 


took his ward and the money with him to his western 
home. Jake is now a bright young fellow of eighteen, 
and at the head of his class in one of our western col- 
leges. 

Tennessee remained with his brother-in-law, and the 
next morning was introduced to his niece in his true 
relation. Alice soon learned to love her warm-hearted 
uncle in spite of his rude, uncouth manner. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

CONCLUSION. 

Three months have passed since Alice Vanderburg, still 
called ‘Allie’ by old acquaintances, entered her father’s 
house. She now regards it as much her home as she did 
the little back parlor in Calamity Row. The great house 
awes her no longer. Its vastness, the depth of its win- 
dows, its glittering magnificence and costly furniture, all 
have grown homelike and friendly. 

She accepts her good fortune modestly, and resolves to 
improve by it. Many great ladies have called on her, or 
sent invitations for her to attend private parties, but she 
has resolved not to enter society for at least one year. 
During the interim she determines to improve her mind 
as best she can. Her father has employed the best pri- 
vate tutors, and she is a quick and willing pupil. She 
visits Mr. and Mrs. Dempster frequently, but makes few 
new acquaintances. For some reason Mrs. Sniflles was 
left off from her list, and that lady’s ambition to enter 
the portals of fashionable society will probably never be 
realized. 

Fred has not seen much of his betrothed since she 

17 


258 


CALAMITY BOW. 


assumed her new station. He has been in the most 
miserable period of his existence. His honor impels him to 
release Miss Vanderburg from vows made when neither 
dreamed she was other then a nameless shop-girl. But 
to give her up would be like sundering his life. He had 
long talks with Dr. Morey, who, while he thought it well 
for Fred to offer to release her, felt confident that under 
the circumstances she would not accept the proffered 
liberty. 

“ It would be well,” the doctor finally concluded, “ to 
see her father and lay the whole matter before him. She 
has probably told him before, but neither of them would 
mention the subject to you. The Colonel is a very 
sensible man, and without a doubt when he finds you 
trying to do a manly part, will only refer you to his 
daughter. With her I am sure your case is safe.” 

Fred was not so certain. A leap from poverty and 
obscurity to the inheritance of four millions might turn 
as strong a head as Alice Vanderburg’s. The papers 
had been full of her romantic story, and she was de- 
scribed as being beautiful beyond comparison. The very 
fact that she received no visitors, seemed to whet the 
curiosity of fashionable people. 

It was now the middle of May. A wonderful improve- 
ment was perceptible in Col. Vanderburg. He had 
grown almost stout, and his cheeks had the flush of 
health. He frequently rode in the park with his 
daughter, in their landau. Then every eye was turned to 
catch a glimpse of that lovely face. 

The Colonel’s brow was not entirely clear of clouds. 
His niece had been heard from but once. Harry Van 
Orden had returned to the city, and from him a rumor 
went forth that Adelaide and her husband had left 
Chicago for some western city on hearing that the 


CONCLUSION. 


259 


Colonel had found his daughter. One day while reading 
his morning paper he noticed a sketch clipped from a 
San Francisco Journal. The headline attracted his 
attention. 

“ Death of a Wall Street Man in San Francisco. 

Last night a young man who has been living for four 
or five months in this city under the name of Williams, 
but whose true name turns out to be Edward Darlington, 
was shot and mortally wounded in Dick White’s gam- 
bling saloon. The quarrel which resulted in the tragedy 
was over a game of cards. Darlington alias Williams, 
was an adventurer, as his dying confession shows. A 
year ago he was a Wall Street broker, but lost all in trying 
to crush one of the great speculators. He eloped with 
the wife of another broker, and came here with her, 
where they lived a month or two as man and wife. But 
when the money she had stolen from her injured hus- 
band, and her jewels were gone, he deserted her and 
she committed suicide. An account of her death was 
given in our columns at the time. The coroner will 
hold an inquest over Darlington’s body to day.” 

Col. Vanderburg removed his glasses from his eyes, 
neatly folded the paper, tore it into strips and threw 
them in a waste basket near his side. Thus ended the 
story of the woman whom he had tried to love, but who 
had disgraced him. There was just a little of the old 
painful look in his face and he could not repress a sigh, 
while his eyes grew moist. At this moment the door 
bell rang, and the servant came in with the card of Fred 
Saunders. 

“ Bring him up,” said the Colonel, glad of anything 
that would take his mind from this painful train of 
thought. Fred came into his room, and seizing his hand 
with a heartiness to which he was a stranger a year before, 
the Colonel said ; 


260 


CALAMITY ROW . 


“ How are you, my dear fellow ? I had come to the con- 
clusion you had deserted us.” 

“ Oh, no, Col. Vanderburg far from it ! ”said Fred, with 
an effort to be cheerful. “ I have come — perhaps — for 
an honorable discharge.” 

“ Discharge, my dear sir, what do you mean ? ” asked 
the Colonel in amazement. 

“ I have come to talk with you, Colonel,” said Fred, 
striving to be calm. “ I mean to be very frank.” 

“Well, well, is there another mystery? You west- 
ern gentlemen seem to have a wonderful tact for bring- 
ing mysteries to light.” 

“ This is no mystery ; though it may possibly be news 
to you.” 

“Go ahead then, and I shall be able to determine.” 

“ Before I knew you, or even suspected that the lovely 
girl on Calamity Row was your daughter. I became ac- 
quainted with her in a rather romantic manner. I admired 
her quiet, unassuming beauty, and when I came to know 
her I loved her.” Fred’s voice sank almost to a whisper ; 
but he mustered up his courage and resumed : “ I, believ- 
ing her to be poor and nameless, determined to give her 
my name. Then I dared love her, I proposed and was 
accepted ; we were betrothed, Colonel, but I did not 
know who she was, I — that is — ” Poor Fred broke down 
in helpless confusion. 

“Well, sir,” said the colonel, as coolly as if he was dis- 
cussing some business affair, “was your engagement 
broken off?” 

“ No, no — not yet. ” 

“ But you wish it, do you ? ” 

“ Oh no, Colonel, — you don’t understand me,” stam- 
mered the youth. 

“Well, sir, make yourself plain. The sooner I under- 


CONCLUSION. 


261 


stand exactly what you desire, the sooner I can aid you.” 

“ To be plain with you, Colonel,” said Fred, with an 
effort to be calm, “ I loved your daughter then with all 
my heart, and I love her yet. But when I won her her 
condition was different from what it now is. I then 
hoped to give her a name and raise her to a position 
better than she had hitherto enjoyed. My means and po- 
sition compared with yours, are little, but I could have 
given her a happy home. As it has turned out, she 
would have to descend to me, instead of I to her. As 
an honorable man I cannot hold her to her compact. It 
is my duty to release her, or give her the privilege of re- 
leasing herself from our engagement.” 

“Young man, you have come to me with a matter 
that wholly concerns yourelf and my daughter.” 

Fred’s heart gave a great bound. 

“ I am to understand, Colonel, that if she is willing 
that the engagement should stand, you have no ob- 
jection ?” 

“I shall not object nor interfere. If Alice loved you 
before, she does now ; and I would not for a moment 
think of sacrificing my daughter’s happiness for all the 
foolish ideas people have of stations.” 

Fred was happy. He sought an interview with 
Alice as soon as he could, and if one had been able to 
get a view of them as they sat upon the velvet sofa in 
that old fashioned lover-like way, he would have known 
that the engagement was not broken. 

“ And so, darling, you were afraid I had forgotten 
you,” said Alice, her beautiful head resting on the bosom 
of her lover. “ You thought that this change would 
alienate me ; you were frightened away by this great, 
big old house.” 

w I was, I must confess I was,” he answered. 


262 


CALAMITY ROW. 


With a smile, she wound her arm around his neck, 
drew his face down to hers, and tenderly kissing him, 
said : 

“ No, Fred ; you will find me only the same little 
Alice whom you knew and loved on Calamity Row. 
Perhaps a little bold because I’m happier. The chief 
joy of it all is that you will share it with me, It is all 
yours as I am. It made no difference to you when you 
believed me a poor nameless girl, and I will make none 
now.” 

Fred thought of the struggle he had gone through 
to accept that difference when she was a nameless girl, 
but said nothing. 

“Allie, did you tell your father of our engagement ? ” 
“ I did.” 

“ Then what a coward I was ! I told him with fear and 
trembling. But let us go and inform him that we have 
plighted anew — stronger than ever, and the day is fixed — 
when ? set it, Allie, and make it right soon.” 

“ Oh, let us consult papa first.” 

The Colonel enjoyed the joke immensely, and as a 
matter of punishment to Fred for his delay, put off the 
wedding for a year, with the condition that the student 
should then have completed his professional studies. 
Fred protested, but his future father-in-law was inexorable, 
and the day was fixed at twelve months from that time. 
Next week Fred Saunders took leave of his betrothed, 
and set out for home, accompanied part of the way by 
Dr. Morey and his young ward Jake. 

A year lacking one week has passed. Col. Vander- 
burg, now a hale, hearty man, and his daughter, more 
beautiful than ever in her new happiness, have been out 
all the morning. It is only a week before the wedding 
day, and they have just been to see the Rev. William 


CONCLUSION . 


263 


Dempster, who is to officiate. They also visited Granny 
Gride, to see if her little store was sufficient for her 
wants, and then they called on Uncle Joe Ruggles in his 
neat up-town house, to invite him and his good wife to 
be present at their child’s wedding, for they still called 
Allie their child. On the way down town they stopped 
a moment to see Mrs. Joyce, and have her promise to 
close up her establishment and come to the Yanderburg 
house until after the nuptials were solemnized. Next 
they went down to the dock to see a saucy yacht on which 
the bridal tour is to be taken. She has a breadth of beam 
and a capacity almost equal to those of an ocean schooner. 
The captain, in neat navy blue, walks about with the pride 
of a newly made admiral. He is lame, but one would 
hardly suppose he wore a cork leg. His eyes sparkle 
with pleasure ; there is no happier man in all the navies 
of the world than the captain of this taut little craft 
which Col. Yanderburg has named the “Allie Gray.” 
The Captain touches his cap to his visitors, and shows 
them to the various cabins, all neat and comfortable as 
a parlor. He assures them the “ Allie Gray ” could 
cross the ocean in perfect safety, and that a better 
rigged vessel is not afloat. Col. Yanderburg compli- 
ments him on his judgment and skill as a commander. 
The sailors all touch their caps as the Colonel and his 
queenly daughter pass. The yacht is thoroughly in- 
spected and Alice expresses her delight to the captain, 
kisses his bronzed old cheek ; and they return to their 
landau. 

“ Blow my eyes, Jack Bolin, if I believe your mission’s 
quite over,” said the cork-legged captain, brushing tears 
of happiness from his eyes. 

After leaving the dock, Col. Yanderburg and his 
daughter drove to Greenwood Cemetery, and paused 


264 


CALAMITY BOW. 


where grass and flowers were growing above a recent 
grave. A large white monument bears the name. 


Aurelia Vanderburg. 

The husband has had the body removed from the pot- 
ters’ field, where it lay, to his own family burying-ground. 
Father and daughter stand for some time in silence, 
gazing at the grassy mound and the fresh blooming flowers. 
There is a painful pleasure in standing at the graves 
of those whom we love. A tear strayed down the 
daughter’s cheek and fell like a shattered crystal on the 
grave. The father kissed away its companion as he led 
her from the grave, and said : 

“ God has been very good to us, my darling. How 
much better our condition now, than two years ago. We 
know where she sleeps, and I have you with me. Then 
I had no one.” 

They were driven home. The postman had left two 
letters for Col. Vanderburg during his absence. One 
was post-marked Memphis, Tennessee, and the other was 
from St. Louis, Mo. 

“ I know whom this is from,” said Allie taking up the 
letter mailed at Memphis. “ I’m your little girl yet, and 
I’m going to take a daughter’s privilege and open it.” 
Her father did not forbid her. Seating herself on his 
knee and breaking the seal she took out a letter written 
in a coarse hand. “ It’s from uncle David Stonebeater, our 
dear 6 Tennessee,’ she cried joyfully. “ and — and he is com- 
ing with his wife to the wedding. Oh, won’t that be 
grand! Dear uncle David, I love him in spite of his odd 
ways.” 

“ But here is another, my dear,” said her father, sadly, 
holding up the second letter, which he had been reading, 
“ Do you want to hear it ? ” 


CONCLUSION. 


265 


u Yes, papa, read it quickly, for Fred is coming to spend 
the evening with me, and I must fix up a little, you know.” 

“ Listen, dearest, this is very sad,” and the Colonel read 

St. Louis, Mo., May 5th, 18 — 

Dear Uncle Robert ; — Forgive an erring niece for addressing 
you in these endearing terms. I doubt whether I ought to write to 
you; but absolute want forces me to do so. I was sadly deceived in my 
husband ; but I tried to love him and make the best of our marriage. 
We were poor and he was indolent. I have had to work like a 
slave to support myself and child. For the last week we have not 
had enough food to keep us from hunger. Mr. Harrison deserted 
me when my baby was only three weeks old; and I know not 
where he is. When he found he would get nothing by his marriage 
he grew tired of me. Let me come home as a servant. Help me, 
uncle, or we must perish. Your unfortunate niece, Adelaide. 

The Colonel laid down the letter with a sigh, and turn- 
ing to his daughter, whose eyes were full of tears, asked : 

“ What shall we do, darling ? ” 

“ Bring her home, by all means, papa, and provide for 
her and her poor little baby. If she has done wrong she 
is penitent and the baby is innocent. They must not suf. 
fer while we have plenty, and to spare. Bring them home 
and provide for them.” 

“We will, my dear.” 


THE END 


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6 *THE CASE OF REUBEN MALACHI. By H. Sutherland Edward.. 134 pages. 

7 * A FIGHT FOR A FORTUNE. From the French of F. du BoUgobey. 191 pages. 

8 * THE M A TAP AN AFFAIR. From the French of F. du BoUgobey. 208 pages . 
0 *A "WOMAN’S SACRIFICE. From the French of Leonee Ferret. 313 pages. 

11 * A DARK DEED. A Tale of the Peasants’ War. By Alfred de Brehat. 80S pages- 

12 * A HOUSE PARTY. By “Oulda.” 207 pages. Also in cloth. 

13 *THE GRAY AND THE BLUE. By E. R. Roe. 292 pages. Also In cloth. 

14 *THE DETECTIVE’S EYE. By F. dn BoUgobey. 

15 *A STEEL NECKLACE. By F. du BoUgobey. 

10 *CECILE’S FORTUNE. By F. du BoUgobey. 

17 * JESS. By H. Rider Haggard. 274 pages. 

18 * SHE. By H. Rider Haggard. 837 pages. 

19 *KING SOLOMON’S MINES. By H. Rider Haggard. 188 pages. 

20 * DARK DAYS. By Hugh Conway. 264 pages. 

21 * DEATH OR DISHONOR. By F. du BoUgobey. 320 pages. 

22 *THE ONE THING NEEDFUL. By MUs M. E. Braddon. 205 pages. 

23 * THE EVIL GENIUS. By Wilkie Collins. 320 pages. 

24 * FEDORA; or. The Tragedy in the Rue de la Paix. From the Freneh of 

A. Bclot. 303 pages. 

25 *LIFE OF HENRY WARD BEECHER. 130 pages. 

20 * ALLAN QUATERM AIN. By H. Rider Haggard. 256 pages. 

27 *ONLY A FARMER’S DAUGHTER. By t. H. Andrews, Member of the New 

York Bar. 206 pages. 

28 *A COMMERCIAL TRIP, WITH AN UNCOMMERCIAL ENDING. By 

0. H. Bartlett. 150 pages. 

29 * WEST OF THE MISSOURI. By James W. Steele. 329 pages. 

30 *FAST AND LOOSE. By A. Griffiths, author of “The Chronicles of New- 

gate. ” 233 pages. 

31 *A MODERN CIRCE, By “The Duchess.” 315 pages. 

32 * A PURITAN LOVER. I >By Mrs. Laura C. S. Fessenden. 220 pages 

33 * AS IN A LOOKING GLASS. By F. C. Philips. 233 pages. 

34 *FOR HER DAILY BREAD. 826 pages. Ready soon. 

35 *A LUCKY YOUNG WOMAN. By F. C. Philips. 340 page^. Ready soon. 

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♦ CALAMITY ROW; or, The Sunken Records. By John R. Mustek. Readysoon. 

♦ THE STOLEN LETTER; or, Frank Sharp, the Washington Detective. 

By C. Morris. 199 pages. 

♦THE DETECTIVE’S CRIME ; or, The Van Peltz Diamonds. By Giuw. 

Morris. 243 pages. 

PRINCE ZILAH. By Jules Claretie. Adapted from the French by A. D. Hall. 

300 pages. 

CHICAGO SENSATIONS. 153 pages. 

KARMA. By A. P. Sinnett, author of “The Occult World,” 285 pages. Also 

in cloth. 

NAPOLEON AND MARIE-LOUISE. By Madame La Generate Durand. 266 

pages. Also in cloth. 

♦ THE RIVAL DETECTIVES. By John W. Postgate. 270 pages. 

PRINCESS ANDREA (Anselma); or. In Spite of All. From the French, 

by A. D. Hall. Based upon the famous drama of Vietorien Sardou. 256 pages. 


A TEXAS COWBOY; or, Fifteen Years on the Hurricane Deck of * 
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For Her Daily Bread. 


The narrative of a working girl’s life and experience 
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B'Z" LITERS. 

With Preface by 

COL ROB ERT G. IN GERSOLL. 

Full of truth, full of sadness, and full of the charity 
that covereth a multitude of sins. 


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THE SUN IS THE ONLY GOD THAT HAS EVER PROTECTED WOMAN. 

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“FEDORA;” 

OR 


The Tragedy in the Rue de la Paix 

BY 

ADOLPHE BELOT. 


This Great Detective Story is a translation of the celebra- 
ted Novel by Adolphe Be lot, called " Le Drame de la 
Rue de la Paix, ’ ' of which the main incidents 
are identical with Sardou’s Dramatic 
masterpiece “Fedora,” as 
performed by 

Sara Bernhardt 

AND 

Fanny Davenport. 


A most original, powerful and exciting French romance. 
Every character must have had its living model. For high dra- 
matic action, intense and thrilling interest and appalling climax, 
absolutely unsurpassed in modern fiction. 

It is a work which places its author at once among the mOBt brilliant and 
powerful novelists of his time.— Albany Sunday Press. 

Since the appearance of “Les Miserables,” nothing of French authorship 
has elicited such unstinted praise .— Newark ( N . J.) Call. 

“Fedora” will he read because unregeuerate human nature is bad. It is 
• French detective story, dealing, as all such stories do, with a mysterious 
murder, a sharp detective, an abandoned woman, and with intrigues, revela- 
tions and violent deaths .— Hartford Evening Post. 

The story is highly exciting, and contains numerous lore scenes peculiar to 
Paris. There is a strength of diction and brilliancy of rhetoric peculiar to the 
eminent French novelists . — Newark Daily Journal. 

As a detective story “Fedora” deserves to rank with Poe's “Murder of 
Marie Roget,” and Miss Harriet Prescott Spofford’s “In a Cellar.” It fully 
equals them in intricacy of plot and ingenuity of execution.— Chicago Tribune. 

The dramatization of “Fedora” has created a furore in Paris, and is re- 

f arded as one of the gems of Madame Bernhardt’s repertoire. It is thoroughly 
’rench, and those who desire to read of crime ana debauchery will find an 
abundant feast in “ Fedora .”— Chicago Inter Ocean. 

The plot is remarkable in its dramatic handling, points of suspense, and in 
the art of baffling the reader. An inside view of the fast life in Paris, the 
eourts of justice and the hidden ways of criminals, treated boldly and in full 
detail, bat without coarseness or exaggeration.— Boston Globe. 


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A Story of the American Civil I# ar. The scene 
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Rand, McNally & Co.’s 

Rocket Cyclopedia 


A HAND-BOOK OF THINGS WORTH KNOWING. 

Containing Tables, Rules, Practical Hints and Historical Sketches, for 
Farmers, Merchants, Mechanics, Bankers, Lawyers, Politicians, 
and the public generally, with 

NUMEROUS COLORED DIAGRAMS 

Hlustrating some of the more important comparative statistics of the world. 


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The following TABLE OF CONTENTS will give some idea of its value: 

Selections for Albums.— Table of the Principal Alloys.— Ages Attained by Differ- 
ent Animals.— Area and Population of Principal Countries of the World.— Officers 
of the United States Army and Navy.— Bible Facts.— First Translation of the 
Bible.— Ages attained by Birds. — Capacity of Boxes. — Notable Bridges of the 
World.— Facts for Builders.— Capacity of Cisterns and Wells.— Rule for Measuring 
the Capacity of Circular Cisterns.— Rule for Measuring the Capacity of Square 
Cisterns. — Climates of the United States.— Coins, Weights and Measures of Scrip- 
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Corn in Cribs when Sides are Straight.— Days of the Week.— Distances by Water 
from New York to Foreign Ports.— Origin of the Dollar.— Chemical Names for 
some of the more common Drugs.— Presidential Elections.— Popular and Electoral 
Votes for President and Vice-President of the United States from 1789 to 1880.— 
Filibuster.— Language of Flowers.— Flying Dutchman.— Digestion of Food.— Food 
for Stock. — Government of Foreign Countries. — Freezing, Fusing and Boiling 
Points.— Value of a Ton of Gold and Silver.— Historical Events, Handy Facts and 
Notable Discoveries.— Legal Holidays of the United States.— Facts concerning the 
Horse.— Hints for Housekeepers.— Strength of Ice.— Inks and Paints: how to Mix 
Printing Inks and Paints in the Preparation of Tints.— Interest Laws in the United 
States.— First Locomotive used in the United States.— Maine Law.— Miscellaneous 
Measures.— Time at which Money Doubles at Compound Interest.— Value of For- 
eign Money in United States Currency.— The Derivations of the Names of the 
Months.— Number of Nails and Tacks in a Pound.— Depth of the Ocean.— Sizes of 
Flat Writing Paper.— Origin of the term Penny as applied to Nails.— Peter Funk.— 
Origin of Plants.— Antidotes for Foison.— Population of 100 Principal Cities of the 
United States.— Postal Laws.— Food for Poultry.— Language of Precious Stones.— 
Prices of the Necessaries of Life in the United States and Europe in 1878.— Public 
Debt of the United States at the close of each Administration.— First Railroads in 
the United States. — First Appearance of the Rooster in Politics. — Salt River.— 
Bushels of Seed to the Acre.— Vitality of Seeds.— The Seven Hills of Rome — The 
Seven Sleepers.— The Seven Wise Men of Greece.— The Seven Wonders of the 
World.— Food for Sheep.— Cost of Smoking.— Number of Union Soldiei’s furnished 
by each State and Territory during the Rebellion.— Derivation of Names of States 
and Territories, Fictitious Names, Election Days. Governors’ Salaries.— First 
Steamboat in the United States.— Comparative Strength of Timber and Cast Iron. — 
Tunnels of the World.— Government of the United States.— Comparative Rate of 
Weekly Wages Paid in Europe and the United States in 1878.— Cost of the Wars of 
the United States.— Wedding Anniversaries. — Weight, Avoirdupois, of a Cubic 
Foot of Different Substances. 


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